Across the Line
by webdlfan
Summary: Set toward the end of season 2.  A major crime leads to things going very wrong for the team. Can they manage when they are split up, their new leadership is questioned, questioning them, causing them to question each other ... and Mac simply disappears?
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: Characters are night mine.**_

_**Setting: Set somewhere toward the end of season 2...**_

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><p>Chapter 1:<p>

Danny Messer reached the door of the small club on the fringe of the SoHo district and pushed out into the damp night. The level of noise in the small club mingled out with the night, even though the live band had played its last set nearly a half hour ago.

"So, what'd you think, _Mon_-tana?" has asked as she fell into step beside him.

"Nice," she tucked her hands in her pockets. "Definitely up there with nearly the rest of your list."

Danny laughed and slid an around her to pull her against his side in a quick, easy gesture that had become so natural between them. She stayed close, even after he dropped his arm.

"_Nearly_. You just didn't like the backup singer. The music was fine."

"Singing is part of the music. She sang with her—" Lindsay gestured to her own chest, in reference to the way the woman had sung—with her chest out, or bent over far enough that anyone who wanted to look could see whatever they wanted.

"It's an art form," Danny stole a glance at her and laughed at the look she shot him. "Admittedly, their lead singer picks his background singers separately than he considers his music. But the way the bass backs him up..."

"So, you just ignore the ...?" she waved her hand again.

"Ah ... some things you can't ignore. It's part of the ride," he gestured out and around him. He knew better than to try and lie his way through "Best city on earth, but pot holes, the grime, it all comes with it."

It had been nearly two months ago that he'd promised to introduce Lindsay to his top ten favorite dens of music. They'd been to different bars and clubs, all fairly small and away from the tourist attractions. There had been hard rock and blues, acoustic at an Irish style pub, and a fantastic three person strings unit—bass, cello and guitar—at a little place across from an all night desert place.

A few months in and they fell into a pattern. After long cases, long days—sometimes he looked in on her, sometimes she checked on him. They went out, and just ... rebooted, reset themselves.

He smiled a little, as they walked side by side in an easy, companionable silence. He wasn't used to being looked after. Most girls kept on him. His mother needled him. Lindsay was just ... there

No—she was more than just there. She needled him too, but knowingly. And she kept up with him, more than stayed on him.

There was just something sweet—even though she wasn't straight out sweet—and dangerous about a girl who carried around a buck knife, knew how to fly fish, and matched him in comic book knowledge.

"That was nine," she brought him back to the music. "One more to go."

One more, he thought. Then he'd have to come up with something else. Or change things. A list of top ten movies seemed a little dangerous, unless he—they—changed things. Hanging out in an inclosed space, off hours ...

He just wasn't sure ...

"Messer?" He glanced at her. "What's next?"

"A little jazz club on the fringe of Queens. Got a brass team you could die for. A little dancing."

He was hoping for a little dancing. _Manny's_. He'd held off. There were things he could see himself doing, steps he could see himself taking with her, in the darkened room with the sweet trails of jazz shimmering around them.

An excuse, he admitted, to getting his hands on her ...

_If_ he changed things.

"You know, there's a really great pizza joint about two blocks over. Wanna grab a slice? They've got a great California Zinfandel ..."

Lindsay lifted an eyebrow. "California Zinfandel? Not just a beer?"

"It goes with pizza," Danny defended, but knew he hadn't pulled it off. "It says so on their menu."

And he'd picked up on it the last time he'd been in, had tried it—thinking of her. Wine with pizza. Danny Messer.

"Its your fault you know," he took her elbow as they reached the corner and picked up the pace as they crossed the intersection. "You were talking wine, about how you went to that wine tasting party and how there were so many more offerings here in New York—"

"And how you didn't notice."

"Why would I notice? Besides, who drinks wine with pizza?"

Lindsay laughed, and noticing the sign at the door that simply said _New York's Best Pizza_, like most other pizza joint in the city, she pulled open the door. "Didn't you just say—"

"I didn't say I drank it. Just that the menu said so." He shrugged. "But since it said it was the best, yeah, sure ..."

And he'd thought of her.

Their banter continued into the pizzeria, where the mood stayed light as she told him a story of growing up in Montana, and he tried to up her one with a story about Staten Island. The lighting was dim, the tables lit with small table lights. He was fascinated by the play of so many things on Lindsay's face. He wanted to tell himself it was the lighting, but it was more. She listened, she was interested, she was ...

He sighed when his phone buzzed against his hip. They'd just come off a string of long days and neither of them were on call.

He frowned as he pulled his phone out and saw that she did the same. She glanced at him, the frown deepening when she saw his out as well. "Something's wrong if we're both being called in."

He nodded.

"Come on. We need to take a cab."

~ny~

They had to run by the lab to get their field kits. It took some time as they hadn't been on call and neither of them had a chance to restock them. There was a rhythm in working in supply, Lindsay thought as she asked Danny to toss her a pair of gloves while she refilled their bottles of Lanolin.

She held out a hand, caught the gloves and grinned back at him when he smiled.

"Good catch, Montana."

"I've still got a few moves left in me," she twirled the lid around the top of the spray bottle, then tightened it. "Though, I really was looking forward to a little down time tomorrow."

"I don't get why they didn't feed us the information on the scene. Something's wrong," Danny shut the lid to his case and his eyes met hers across the small prep room. "Something's really off."

She'd noticed it. Their call in had been strange. They'd already clocked over time. But no one had called them with more intel; no one had given them a heads up that something was indeed really wrong.

"The lab's not buzzing," Lindsay said as she shut her case and met Danny at the door. "If it was something with one of the team—"

He shook his head. "Someone would have called. And we wouldn't be processing." He nodded toward the elevators. "Come on. No use worrying over it until we have to."

But the mood of the evening was gone. The high they'd rode on being out together, laughing, doing their thing was gone. Her third or forth wind that had kept her going was puffed out. The weariness had settled in.

They took an Avalanche to the scene, with no banter over who should drive. Lindsay just climbed in and curled up in her seat. She would grab a few winks on the way, if she was able. Ten minutes, she told herself, and she would be able to face the long night ahead.

Danny said nothing. She dozed, with only the sound of the truck moving over the wet streets. Must have rained that night. They'd been in the small club, the music surrounding them. Wet, thought, as she slid slowly into a light sleep, it had been wet when they'd walked out of the club.

She felt herself being pulled from sleep, as Danny said her name. "Montana."

Something in his voice told her something was not right. She sat up, blinked.

She stared at the street around them, at a dozen of bright police car lights blinking red and blue in the dark night.

Wordlessly, they got out of the car, got their field kits. Lindsay followed Danny through the mayhem of officers and dipped under the crime scene tape an officer held up for her. They walked together into the home, and back through to the kitchen.

Stella stood with Mac, camera in hand.

And there on the floor, eyes wide open in death, was Chief Sinclair.

Their boss...

5


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much for the great response in the reviews, by the way :).

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but I love the character study. :)

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><p>Chapter 2:<p>

She felt like she'd been on her feet and running for a month. The last week had been tough, and not just because they'd been working double shifts. The press was squritinizing their every move. Fellow officers were jumpy. Questions were being asked, and there were no answers.

And so little evidence.

The Chief of Detectives was murdered in his home. Every sign seemed to point toward a robbery. The chief's wife said they were missing some of her grandmother's jewelry, a laptop, and a small television. Still, there were other things not taken.

A quick entrance and grab, running into the chief, a gunshot.

Leaving very little trace behind.

He'd been discovered by his wife, several hours later. No one heard a gunshot, nothing showed up on security footage. All trace and fibers had been catalogued, and most belonged to Sinclair's family.

Lindsay dropped down at her desk and rubbed her eyes. She'd barely been able to go home in the last few days. She was exhausted, and tired of people watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

The door to her office opened and she looked up, smiled at Danny as he came in. He handed her a large cup of coffee, the look on his face as weary as her own.

"Flavored coffee for the lady from Montana."

She held it up and drew in a long, needed breath. "Mmm. Thank you."

"Seems like we all could use a boost," he sat down on the couch in their office and leaned so his forearms rested on his thighs, his own large coffee held between his knees. "Pierson been by to question you today?"

"Which time?" she muttered. The mayor had appointed Dale Pierson, one of his stooges, to oversee and coordinate work at the lab. He acted like the fact that they had little evidence to go on meant that they weren't effectively doing their job.

"He seems to think that since I'm come from Montana, I need to be prodded and petted, and encouraged at every turn. Like the family cow. I know what happens to the family cow." She drew a finger across her neck and made a slicing noise.

"At least he's not poking you with a pitchfork."

"Who says that's not what he thinks?" the bitterness surprised her. "I suppose I should be used to it."

Danny snorted. "No one here ever petted you, _Montana_."

That made her smile. "No, I guess not."

She took a long sip of her coffee and closed her eyes to savor.

Danny leaned back on the couch and closed his own eyes. "Tell me that you guys have found something so we can do something more than process fibers."

"Nothing found, but we're all cataloged. I thought I should step away for a little while and work on some paperwork. Maybe get a new perspective. I can't think of this anymore. I still keep thinking he's going to step off the elevator and walk passed."

As Chief Sinclair did in spurts, off and on over the months that she'd been there. He let them do their jobs—or rather _Mac_ do his job—until he had to play the political game. Then they would see the imposing force of him stroll their halls, several times over the length of a week, or month, until the bulk of the case was laid to rest.

Danny smiled, his eyes still closed. "Or pay a visit to Mac so we get a little show through the glass walls."

She smiled a little at how his accent toyed with the word as simple as _wall_, making it somehow sexy. She liked moments like this, when she could just watch him. She never knew what to expect from him. He had a brilliant, searching mind. He had a body that ...

She shouldn't_ ... couldn't_ think about.

It wasn't just that they worked together. He was her friend, a welcome balance to the off kilter things they found as they worked crime scenes. He opened up New York to her, but he was easy to be with.

And he easily captured and carried the attention of women wherever they went together. He didn't need her.

But she depended on him.

As if suddenly aware of her thoughts, his eyes opened then, and locked on hers. She tilted the coffee mug, and hoped to hide the embarrassing blush she knew had taken over. Those blue eyes could hold so much emotion, and still hide whatever he was thinking.

She turned back to the paper work, and began keying in little notes that had been made in the file. He moved to his desk, and together they worked in efficient silence.

She put the awareness of him to the side, and did her job. It was nice, though, to hear the familiar tone of his voice when he picked up the phone and made a call. She'd missed that in the last week, so much of the case had kept them running—albeit in lab. This case was priority.

She only wished it meant that they weren't in two separate places.

A few minutes into the paperwork she came across a note Stella had made on a file, and remembered that she was supposed to follow through on it for her. She smiled a little as she leaned back in her chair and slowly turned to face Danny. His head was bent over his own papers, a frown on his face as he idly scratched his neck with the end of his pen.

"I've got to return to Mrs. Downly, from the Rockdale case..." she watched as Danny lifted his head, interest in his eyes, "ask her about a purchase her to identify the names of her grandson's friends that were in the photograph, and clarify something for Stella and the file... you wouldn't want to go with me, would you? After all, you managed to charm your way into chocolate chip cookies the last time."

He scoffed a little, but stood, clearly as ready as she to get out of the lab. "I believe those cookies are important to the credibility of the case."

"That's what I thought."

~ny~

They headed out, asked their questions and made notes. Danny left the house with a bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Lindsay called into Stella and reported what they learned, and used to trip back to update the file.

Then they hit traffic. It was common in New York, so Danny did little more than flip a switch on the radio to fill the cab with music. Neither of them were known for wasting time, and they both used the time they had on route to do some work. They talked over the case, what little they had, and what changes had been made.

Pierson was making a stink, looking over their shoulders. Danny knew Lindsay wasn't prone to think it, but Danny had been around people since joining the lab who were waiting on him to make a mistake. He knew Pierson's M. O., his _Modus Operandi, _or mode of operating. The man was waiting to throw his influence around. He had that look, and connections with the mayor that had landed him here in the first place.

And yet, Pierson wasn't their biggest problem. The force was on high alert. Suspects from long since passed were being brought in, their alibis questioned and followed up on. Flack, and a mob of other detectives were working over time, as they were at the lab.

They were examining every piece of potential evidence inside and outside of the house, every fiber, every leaf, leaving no stone—_literally_—unturned. The tech guys had hours of footage to go through, from video cameras of town house and traffic cams surrounding the Sinclair house for miles.

Nothing popped.

"It just feels off."

Beside him, Lindsay nodded. Clearly her mind had been cycling through evidence and process as well.

The house had been clean, yet seemed cleaner in certain areas. The footage he'd seen—whomever it was, knew what to avoid.

Unless they were missing something.

There was a lot of time surrounding the chiefs death, and the discovery. His wife was clear. His family was clear. All of the major issues he was dealing with on his desk had led to dead ends.

And yet, the robbery seemed wrong. He reached out, turned the radio off. The cab was suddenly filled with the sounds of New York traffic. He listened to it, channeled it, and thought back to his years as a CSI and as a beat cop.

"It seems so planned."

"Stella's said so a dozen times the last week." He shook his head trying to clear it, and pictured Sinclair lying on the floor. "I need to get back, look at the autopsy photos."

He slammed his palm onto the steering wheel and grimaced, surveying the traffic in front of him. Then, when he had the chance to edge forward, he moved the Avalanche and grabbed a parking spot along the side of a bodega.

Lindsay looked at him in surprise. He flashed her a grin. "Be right back. Keep it running."

"You take to long in there, I'll leave you right here."

Danny snorted as he glanced at the traffic. "Go right ahead. All I'll have to do is run a couple of steps and catch up with you. Then you'll be stuck driving this thing through traffic."

Which she hated, Danny knew and thought of that as he got out and shut the door. She loved the open road, driving fast. She'd grown up driving long highways where speed limits were sometimes optional. She had a heavy foot.

She couldn't stand staying still, not if she was in the driver's seat.

He went into the bodega and made his purchase in less than a minute, but by the time he was outside, she'd kicked off her shoes and her feet were up on the dash. He smiled a little as he climbed in, impress with how she'd worked her body to balance her paperwork. She was on her cell, her eyes serious as she added details into her laptop. She'd learned, to maximize her time in a car–not in the streets of New York, but on the back roads of Montana between crime scenes. It was just a useful habit.

"Very _Montana_, Montana," she smiled a little as she glanced over at him, but her bare feet up and kept working. When he handed her a bottle of milk, she lifted an eyebrow, but took it.

He opened his own soda and set it in the cup holder before negotiating his way back into traffic. He took at his own cell and checked in with the lab, catching up on trace he'd left with the techs to process.

"I cannot get over how you can stand eating cookies with soda when milk is available," she said when he hung up. He accepted the cookie she offered him and noticed she'd sat back up at some point, and straightened the pile in her lap. He missed it—for some odd reason. There was a comfort to her being stretched out in the seat next to him.

"I thought those were mine," he nodded to the open bag.

"You supplied the milk. Milk goes with chocolate chip cookies."

"Someone told me it was necessary."

"Would you say that person has a penchant for being right?"

"I would say I trust that person's opinion, but I hold the right to defer to my own."

She shook her head. "Soda and chocolate chip cookies. You seriously don't know what you're missing."

"Careful, I don't have to share."

When they finally reached the lab, Danny took the rest of the cookies with him and headed toward trace, while Lindsay went on to their office to type of the interview and add it to their notes. He was pulling on a lab coat when Pierson walked in.

He was a little heavy set, with thinning grey hair. He always had a toothpick in his mouth as if he was hanging on to the vestiges of a cigarette habit.

"Detective Messer. You've been absentee this afternoon."

"Monroe and I had an interview with a witness."

"Oh, I didn't realize that there was a break in the Sinclair investigation," he crossed his arms. "I don't find it necessary for two agents to head downtown to interview a 73 year old witness."

"She's my partner."

"If Detective Monroe needs assistance on a simple interview, than I'm sure we could reassign her." Danny stared him down, a retort his lips.

"I don't believe that's protocol, sir."

"Things have changed around here, Detective Messer, but you'll be receiving a full list of the departmental changes this afternoon along with everyone else." He eyed Danny. "You have anything you want to say about Detective Monroe?"

"She's a qualified and talented crime scene investigator, sir," Danny bit off a further remark, for Lindsay's sake. "She can handle herself."

His jaw tight, Danny turned away, before being dismissed, but before he could say anything else. It was one thing to turn the liason on himself, but would be more careful when it came to Lindsay.

"You need to watch yourself, Detective Messer. Your reputation was made clear to me before I even entered the doors of this department. As well as Mac Taylor's backing on your behalf. I'm watching you."

Danny didn't turn around. There were very few people in his life he'd learned to keep his mouth shut around. One of those people was his mother. He channeled her, and walked away.

But he had a bad feeling, a feeling he couldn't shake. He needed to find Mac. Something was very wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Sorry for the delay. I've hit a few road blocks and had to slow the pace as they worked themselves out. :P Here's hoping that continues. Or rather, the flow (not the road blocks). That meant rewriting a whole chapter over this one, but I was hesitant to put anything up if the direction didn't work out. Of course, that's up for debate anyway. :p  
><em>**

**_By the way, just in case I don't get another post up before tomorrow, let me tell you about the Summer Viewing Party on Twitter. It starts at 9 pm est on Tuesdays through the summer. On Tuesday, June 14, 2011 we're watching Risk. We've already had a blast with City of Dolls and Zoo York (and voted through a set schedule for the summer). Please join us! Or at least join in on the conversation about Risk. If you want more info, please pm me. If you don't have a twitter and don't want one, there are other ways to participate (but twitter seems to be the most active). We want to keep the dialog up with CSINY throughout the summer, and lead towards a great season 8 and beyond.  
><em>**

**_Thanks for the reviews by the way (I really needed them to push me forward through that wammy of a road block)! I haven't responded, but I wanted to get another update out before I left today. Hopefully I'll get to those later in the day._**

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><p><strong>Across the Line 3<strong>

Danny headed straight to Mac's office. He stood by his desk, his eyes on the contents of a folder. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbow. But he seemed distracted, his eyes less alert, more thoughtful.

With a quick knock on the dense glass door, Danny pushed it open. "You got a second?"

Mac nodded, "shut the door."

"What's going on with this Pierson guy?" Danny asked.

"Danny," his voice quiet, Mac set the folder down, and took a step toward him. "You've got to remember, the walls might not have ears, but they've got eyes everywhere on this floor. It preserves the evidence, and keeps this lab's integrity. But its not private."

Danny stared at him. "You're worried about Pierson."

"He's just doing his job, Danny. You've got to walk the line on this. Someone murdered Chief Sinclair. All eyes on on this lab. Not just Pierson."

"He stood there and questioned Montana. You. Me, I could tkae, but neither you nor Lindsay deserve it."

"Sometimes you play the game."

He felt like he was walking around in some sort of alternate universe. "Mac? What's happened to you? When did you start playing the game."

"Someone went after Sinclair."

Mac had time to elaborate, but he didn't. Danny shook it off. He turned away from him and tried to work it out, much like he would have done of the baseball field. Maybe Mac was telling him something, he just didn't know what.

And what was he supposed to do about it, then? Wait?

Mac had a lot more faith in the evidence than he did.

But then Mac's door opened, and for the first time Danny saw what Mac had seen coming at them through the glass walls. Pierson himself stood in the doorway. He looked first at Mac, then toward Danny. The toothpick still rested between his lips.

"Detective Messer," he said slowly, "I see you still haven't found something to do with the time you have on your hands."

Danny gritted his teeth. "I needed to speak to my boss. You got a problem with that?"

"Danny—" Mac interrupted.

"I do," Pierson took a step forward, "when its on the department dime. Now do you, in your scientific opion have something to do I can pay you for, or would you rather spend some time on your own time considering your actions and attitude towards your superiors."

"Dnany. Go work with Stella in trace."

"Mac—" Danny turned toward his boss, ready to spew, but saw something there, something weary, but strong. With every fiber of his being he wanted to stand his ground, stand for the man who'd taught him how to walk to line.

"I've got it here."

With a nod, Danny turned and yanked open the door.

"You've got a lose cannon on your hands there, Taylor," Pierson advised.

"Not as loose as you think," Mac defended.

"Maybe that's why I was placed here. I have a few more notes to go over with you, if you have the time."

Danny didn't care to hear Mac's retort. He kept going and would find Stella, as mac suggested. He needed someone, anyone to clue him in on what was happening around him.

~ny~

"I don't like it, Stella," though she was upset, Lindsay spoke quietly as she looked into the microscope. "I mean Pierson seems to find happiness picking on all of us, but we shouldn't have to defend each other."

The lab techs had told Lindsay about Pierson's exchange with Danny over her. "Danny's already on edge."

"Unfortunately, we're going to be under his watch until Sinclair's murderer is brought to justice."

"And if that doesn't happen?"

Stella leaned back and looked across the table where they had sorted numerous small bags of fibers and yard debris. "You know what Mac says, the evidence never lies, and we have plenty of it. We just had to ..."

"Let it speak to us?" Lindsay said, quoting something she'd heard Danny say a couple of times.

Stella smiled. "Yeah."

"And Pierson?"

Stella took her time returning the fibers she'd been analyzing back to the evidence bag, and carefully sealed it. Then she looked at Lindsay, her eyes deadly serious. "I'm not going to lie to you, Linds. Pierson's got something up his sleeve. He wants Mac's job."

"But he can't have it. He's not qualified, is he?"

"A man like Pierson, with his connections, doesn't have to be qualified. He'll take Mac's place, and we'll walk the line with him until he's gone. He won't last long. Tyrants never do."

"Wait—what about Mac?"

"Don't mistake Mac's acquiescence to whatever happens to being the end," Stella set the evidence down. "I don't know what's going to happen, I just know that Mac's prepared. Sinclair's murder is the key—and he's got a better line on solving it than Pierson."

With a lift of a sculpted eyebrow, Stella set a hand on Lindsay's arm, and gave her a small smile before she walked away to file the evidence she'd just analyzed.

Her words left Lindsay's mind spinning. She'd become close to Mac in her time at the lab. He was like her father in so many ways. He helped her stay balanced when she felt like she was going to fly loose in a new and strange place.

She looked around slowly, at the lab. This was her place, it was her family. Her stomach was churning with a sudden uncertainty that had come with Stella's words. If Mac was forced out ... she thought of Pierson, the way he treated her as if she was less than, the way he played off of Danny's natural aggression, and the way he strutted around.

She carefully gathered the evidence back up and placed it in the box, going through the long process to make sure it was done properly even though her urge was to go immediately. As soon as it was done, and she could go, she slipped out of her lab coat and headed to Mac's office. As she approached, she watched Pierson leave, and gritted her teeth over the self satisfied look on his face. Mac leaned over his desk, his arms stretched out, his head bent forward as he worked to compose himself.

Lindsay hesitated at the door. She wasn't sure he needed to be bothered, and knew he didn't need her questions right then.

But he looked up and saw her there. He pushed up, motioned her in with a jerk of his head.

The look in his eyes was sad, but deadly serious, like a Marine who did his duty.

"Mac?" she said as she watched him grab his sports coat, and nod toward the back door of his office.

"I'm in need of some coffee, Lindsay. Why don't you come with me?"

Lindsay frowned. The tone of his voice didn't match the look in his eyes, nor was he ever known to escape the office for coffee with anyone save Stella.

When she simply stood there, he held motioned a second time and headed out. She thought of Pierson and Lindsay followed. In that moment, she was quite sure she would follow him anywhere.

~ny~

They all got the buzz on their cell phones at the same time. Danny was with Stella in trace. Hawkes stopped in the doorway and looked at them both. They carefully put away the evidence and stored it according to procedure. Around them the lab techs kept working. The meeting they were being called to was for the detectives only.

Together they walked to the conference room. It wasn't just Mac Taylor's team being called in, it was all of the CSI detectives.

Danny looked around the room. They all new each other, and they'd all worked together at different times during their tenure. Not only were they bonded by their field, but many of them had been hand picked by Mac, and shared an unyielding support of him.

And a mighty disdain for Dale Pierson.

Danny frowned when the interim chief of police, appointed by the mayor, stepped in the conference room, followed by Pierson. Already crowded, the air in the room became suddenly thick.

Danny looked around. He didn't see Mac.

A knot formed in his stomach, it lessened somewhat when he saw Lindsay walk into the room, but the devastated look in her eyes pushed him over toward nauseous.

"Mac?" he mouthed.

She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly shook her head. He looked toward Stella, then toward Hawkes. Something had happened. Something was really wrong.

"Detectives," the interim Chief, Thomas Lattimore, drew their gaze toward the front of the room. "As you know I appointed Captain Pierson here to come into this crime lab, and maintain a sense of expedience in the wake of Chief Sinclair's murder. As much as I respect the decisions of the former chief, and respected him as a man, no man's leadership is perfect. I asked Captain Pierson to recommend some needed changes so that we can move forward. Today we are beginning the process of making some of those changes. Over the next few weeks we will be restructuring the detective base in this department into field teams and tech teams. We will work to branch those teams across the city."

He paused, and looked around the room. He didn't look at them individually. He seemed more to be looking through them, or looking at the as a collective whole. "Effective immediately," he said quickly, "Captain Pierson will be head of the crime lab. He will be outlining the change as stated in his report ..."

The rest of his words faded under the emotional noise in Danny's head. A thousand moments rushed in. His first meeting with Mac, on the street, when he was still on the beat. The day Mac interviewed him to work at the crime lab, his first day on the job, his first scene.

Going through IAB, and Mac's disappointment.

Mac talking to him, and talking him down, a number of times. The way he stood up for him and stood with him. The day after Aiden had been fired, and the day he handed him the report that detailed the background of one Lindsay Monroe from Bozeman, Montana.

And a thousand moments in between.

He looked at Stella, at the anger and grief in her eyes—trained forward on her new boss. She struggled, but she focused forward. Hawkes had turned to stare outside. He knew Pierson had questioned the doc on a number of occasions.

Then toward Lindsay. For a moment their eyes met. He saw the grief there, and he wondered over the power of it. He wanted to promise her that nothing would change.

But she lowered her gaze, and he knew.

Everything had changed.

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><p><em><strong>AN: Uh oh. :p**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry for the delay! Had some problems with the case as I accidentally wrote myself into a hole. :p I'm a few chapters ahead, but I'm trying to make sure I don't have to go back and fix something-which has proven the case twice now. However, I redid the outline and I think I know where this is all going and when it will get there.  
><strong>_

_**Anyway, would love to know what you think about this chapter. And that's all I can say about it... :p**_

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><p><strong>Across the Line 4<strong>

~_Three Months Later_~

Summer had come in with a vengeance, turning Manhattan into an island of steam along with the concrete. Chief Sinclair's murder still remained unsolved, despite the changes at the lab.

But some of the pressure, from the outside, was off. The press had all but forgotten the Chief's murder.

It all came from the inside. Pierson and his rules, Pierson and his setup.

No one on the inside had forgotten Sinclair, at least not Mac's former staff, or the army of detectives he'd once directed.

Danny worked side by side with Stella at a crime scene, dealing with the heat as he did every day. So much had changed in the last few months. It was their job now to work the streets, to gather evidence, but not to process or to follow through. The job that had freed him, that had given him new dreams and reasons to believe had become rote and monotonous. He did it, and accepted the pay check.

The only saving grace was that he no longer had to see Dale Pierson on a daily basis. Pierson had followed through on his own limited recommendations and reorganized the way the crime lab worked. He picked what he believed was an elite team of his own that coordinated between the scene and the lab. The detectives now worked out of individual precincts spread out over the city.

It left them with nothing to do on some days, and back logged on others. He and Stella worked together, Hawkes had been assigned elsewhere. Sometimes, their paths crossed. Hawkes talked of going back into the morgue, or maybe beck into the operating room. None of them actually worked out of Flack's precinct anymore, but they all made an effort to see each other away from the job.

Sometimes they talked of plans, of revolution. But in the end, it wasn't 17th century France. It was a bureaucratic government system, that would eventually swing back. Tyrants, Stella reminded him, never maintained their power.

Stella simply worked. She muttered in Greek, listened to his complaints, and maintained a quiet anger underneath it all.

Danny shook his head. Who was he kidding? She seethed.

Pierson had written her up for some petty issue he had when she questioned a case. The case remained unsolved, and she had a letter of insubordination in her file.

The job was important to her. This city was important to her.

And Mac ... Mac had simply disappeared.

Danny finished gathering the evidence they'd collected and stored it in one of the department issued boxes. This would be sent to the lab. He wouldn't see it again. He would go back to the station and write a report. Someone else would read it. He wasn't personally involved in the data anymore.

He was surprised at how much he missed the data.

And other things.

He watched as the Avalanche pulled up to the curb, now labeled with a distinct "NYC Crime Lab" running in white along the door. He took a breath, dealing with the bitterness. The door opened and he watched the leg slowly slide out.

She wore impossibly high heals now, and hose. She dressed in smart black suits, and pulled her hair back. She looked like she belonged on wall street from the neck down. Her eyes ... he ignored her eyes.

She wasn't his Montana anymore.

Though Pierson continued to dog her—the lab techs told him so—she'd accepted a position on his supposed elite team. She worked with him, and did his bidding. It was like her time under Mac meant nothing.

Maybe Mac had left them, disappeared, but Danny hadn't forgotten. Watching Lindsay ... it made him sick.

He wanted to grab onto her and shake her, to shake her back into her former self.

She carried with her one of the official Dale Pierson clipboards. She walked up to him and stopped. For a moment, neither said anything. She always seemed to be waiting on him to say something, anything.

To accuse her? He wondered. To call her on being a traitor?

_You were my partner_, he wanted to tell her. He wanted his hands on her. He wanted to shake it out of her—_whatever_ it was that had turned her into ... this.

"We have your evidence," he stepped back, motioned to where he had set it the first box on the ground, then set the one he held on top. He took a step back, motioned with one hand. He wasn't about to do her bidding. He would bow under Pierson's thumb, but not to her.

She eyed him for a moment, before she dipped down—carefully in the skirt—and began to note the needed information on the clipboard. He watched her, and told himself not to think of her, of another time.

Of moments wasted.

This is who she was now. Maybe it was who she always had been.

After some time, she stood, continued to write, her head dipped, not making any sort of eye contact. She passed the clipboard to him, without saying a word. He took it, looked over her notes, aching at the familiar handwriting.

She was meticulous, she did her job—as Stella often reminded him, that protected him. He signed off and handed it to her, than turned away and walked back to Stella, leaving Lindsay to stack the boxes into the truck alone.

It was a ritual he had worked out with himself. He couldn't say he was proud of it, but all the other ways he had of dealing with his anger he couldn't—wouldn't—do.

Danny waited until the Avalanche pulled away, then knelt and helped Stella gather up their tools. The crime scene tape would remain for awhile.

"Awfully frosty now for such a hot day," Stella said after awhile.

Danny managed a smirk. "Seems to have blown in from Montana."

Stella glanced at him, at eye level as they knelt across from each other. There was something different in them today.

"I just don't get it, Danny. Of all people, I'm surprised that you've turned on Lindsay this way."

"Me? She's the one who turned on us."

"Did she? Or is she just surviving, stuck in the same hell hole situation we're all in."

"You saw how she acted as soon as Mac was out the door. She's Pierson's lap dog, doing his bidding, checking on him. She became is own personal lacky—despite his continual mocking behavior toward her. And it was her choice, but you're questioning me?"

"She needs the job, Danny."

"We all need a job, Stel."

Stella shut her kit and stood up, shaking her head at him. "No. Either of us come close to losing out jobs, we go to the union rep and we're transferred. We have the years in, and a professional file to protect us. Or we move in with friends. You've got family all over this city. Lindsay's got us."

"She sold us out."

"She loses her job, what's going to happen to her? She's back in Montana."

He knew it, and he'd had that thought, but it wasn't something he could answer.

He pushed up and walked away from Stella. He worked his jaw, forcing the thoughts he'd kept back ... well, just forced them back into place. He couldn't think of Lindsay that way. She wasn't helpless.

"She would be fine."

"She left Montana for a reason, Danny. A lot of girls want to come to the city to work. Lindsay's one of them. She was thriving here, and though she never said, I know there's something back there, something that makes her desperately glad to be here," when Danny said nothing, Stella muttered something in Greek. "Think _Danny_. There's no one Lindsay was more loyal to than Mac Taylor. You think she's given that up?"

He scoffed, "Loyal?"

"You think just anyone would be able to get Mac Taylor to do what she asks him to do? I might be able to get away with it, but he would think I've lost my mind," Stella smiled gently. "She wouldn't even try to do it, and certainly wouldn't be able to get away with it, if there hadn't been some sort of bond fledged between them from the beginning. I know Mac sensed it."

"He's that way with all of us. You don't see me working for Pierson."

"I see you following his rules, doing his bidding. You think Pierson offered her a chance or a choice, Danny? Where would he have placed her?"

He wouldn't have, Danny realized.

Danny swallowed—the look in Lindsay's eyes, the look he refused to acknowledge—suddenly at the forefront of his memory. She looked exhausted, and in some accounts defeated, especially when she was with him.

But he had observed an obstinacy in her when she wasn't aware of his presence, in a time when he'd let Stella handle the lab pickups. She seen her take a call from her boss, watched the tightness of her lips, the derision in her eyes. She controlled herself better than he was able to.

But he didn't get it.

"She was the one who set herself up to be one of Dale Pierson's chosen."

With a look in her eye, Stella bent down and closed his and stood. For a moment, she held onto it, and looked him in the eye. "Maybe, but maybe if you remember a little better, Dale Pierson had already picked her out as his lackey. He thinks her being from Montana makes her easily controlled. He thinks she's under his thumb. Maybe she was just surviving. Maybe that's all she's doing now."

Danny slowly shook his head. If that were true ...

Stella pressed his case into his hand.

"Take another look."

~ny~

There were few reasons now to go to the New York crime lab. It was a place where the lab techs worked, not where the field officers went. Dale Pierson held court in Mac's office surrounded by his elite team. Their specific job was processing and moving on the information they found.

The only way to see him was through appointment, and from what he'd heard, Danny knew one probably needed a union rep with them if they tried to question his authority.

Danny got off at the 34th floor, and he tried not to look around. The changes that had been made just angered him. For every person Dale had personally picked, there was someone he let go. There were new people working both in the lab and on the field.

And a lot of people gone.

He wasn't sure what had saved his job. He knew Pierson had it out for him. Maybe it was as Stella said. Maybe his tenure kept him there.

Some guy named Fynn had been hired from the New Jersey lab, and had taken over Danny's old office he'd shared with Lindsay. It meant someone from the New York lab, picked by Mac, had been let go.

And it told him that maybe Stella was right. Maybe Lindsay had simply been fighting, desperately fighting, for a job. He'd never paid much attention to what had been back in Montana. He kept things light. She was in New York now, after all. He had always thought that she'd come simply because it was a great city, a great opportunity.

But now that he thought about it, there was something else in her eyes, something Stella had obviously paid attention to.

He thought back to the Henry Dairus case, of how Mac had sent Lindsay back to the lab, and how she'd reacted.

_He'd called her Montana and snapped at him. It was a roughness he hadn't expected. "You upset that Mac dismissed you?"_

"_I can handle it."_

"_Well, it's not about that" with any other girl he would have let it go, but for some reason it was important for him to defend Mac ... and maybe to settle the hurt he saw there in her eyes. "He was—he was looking out for you. You saw that place. It was a slaughter house in there."_

"_What, you think I haven't seen blood like that before?"_

"_I don't know, to tell you the truth. Have you?"_

"_Yes, and a lot worse than that."_

She'd moved on to evidence, and he'd let it go, had pushed it back in his mind without much thought. It didn't change who she was, he'd thought, and it certainly didn't change his respect for her. He knew how hard it was to believe you were constantly being chased by your past, and for people to believe it overly shaped your actions today.

But maybe he should have pressed further. If he'd known ...

Danny shook his head, and told himself he didn't know what to think, he just knew that at his core he was a detective, and Mac Taylor had told him never to leave the evidence until he understood it.

There were suddenly a lot of questions he had about one Lindsay Monroe.

~ny~

He'd learned a few ways to work the system over the last few months. He'd called in to a few of the lab techs and asked some pointed questions. He'd learned that there were a few that he could trust, that were more loyal to Mac, including one named Adam Ross, who had been hired only a few months before.

Danny had an idea of how things were working at the lab, and where Lindsay would be—he needed to get in and get out, without running into Pierson.

He didn't head in the direction of Mac's old office. He knew better. He headed toward trace.

He saw her trough the glass long before he reached the door. Her hair had fallen a little. She was biting her bottom lip. The look in her eyes as she concentrated ... it was more _Lindsay_ than he had seen in a long time.

His throat ached as he thought about the things he had said to her, the way he had treated her.

And how much he missed her.

Maybe he was wrong.

He really wanted to be wrong.

The lab tech's that moved around her saw him coming. No one left the room. He saw defiance there, as if they were her personal army there to protect her.

He hated that they, his old colleagues, felt she needed to be protected from him.

He stepped in the door way and watched as she recorded something before turning back to look into the microscope. It took him a moment, to find the right words, the right way to restart this engine.

"See something interesting there, _Montana_?"

She glanced up, the surprise—and hope—in her eyes so clearly displayed in that one moment.

Then she pulled back, protecting herself. It told him that maybe he'd missed a lot before because he hadn't been paying attention in her more vulnerable moments.

She worked the words out before she said them. He saw it in her eyes. "Can I help you, Detective Messer?"

"Found some more evidence at the scene. Didn't seem to be a reason for you to come out when I'm going off the clock anyway."

"The lab's not on your way."

"Not to home, but to where I was going," he bounced a little on his feet as he handed over the box and the official paperwork to go with it. She snapped it from him with a sigh, and glanced over them quickly. He doubted she really read the words or what it said.

She signed off on the papers and handed them back to him.

For a moment she just looked at him, struggling with what to say, what she could say.

"You know," he said gently, taking a step toward her, "we never got around to number ten."

His words surprised her. He watched the emotion play across her face, watched the confusion in her eyes as and she smiled a little sadly. "Small jazz club with amazing brass," she remembered, "and a little dancing."

He nodded toward the box, and knew his time was up. "Maybe we'll see each other around some time."

He turned to walk away but stopped when she said his name. He turned around, saw the struggle in her big brown eyes. She might hate him for it, but he really wanted to gather her up and take her away from there. He had to stop himself from taking a step forward.

He didn't know who she was, who they were, not anymore.

"I miss you."

At the soft words, he had no response. He couldn't. He simply nodded and turned. His time was up. He had to get out before Dale Pierson made his rounds.

~ny~

Lindsay opened the evidence box. Inside was a small bakery box. On the lid Danny had written, _NO EVIDENCE. SIMPLY FOR MONTANA. OPEN AWAY FROM THE LAB._

She set it aside and began to put away everything she was working on. The trace could wait. She glanced around, recognized the urgency in the air. Dale Pierson was making his rounds.

He came around the corner and stepped into the lab.

"Detective Monroe," he said. "I heard Detective Messer was here."

"He brought in some evidence, sir," she breathed slowly, hoping the man did not ask to see it—not that he ever, really, got personally involved with the cases they were working on. Since she was left mainly to lab work, the cases she handled were all over the place.

"He broke protocol. I hoped you informed him of his error."

"I did, sir. He was off shift. He was in the area and felt like it saved the city some gas."

"Still, the detectives are in the field for a reason."

_And not in the lab, _Lindsay knew, less they ask the right questions.

"I was pretty firm about it, sir. He knows."

Dale Pierson nodded, and she could only hope she'd taken him off Danny's back. He left then, going around to the other places. Lindsay wondered if he ever really saw anything.

When she was sure that she was in the clear, she finished putting away her own evidence and disposed of the evidence box and paperwork Danny had brought with him. Stripping off her lab coat, she took the box he'd left with her to the locker room, and sat on one of the benches across from her locker, and where his used to be.

Then she opened the box.

Inside was a single chocolate chip cookie and a bottle of milk nestled in tissue paper. She bit her lip and fought with the tears.

She nearly put it aside, locked it away in her locker. She would have to deal with the surfacing emotions later.

But something told her there was something more. Underneath the cookie she found a simple note.

_9 PM Tonight. Manny's._

And for the first time, since Captain Dale Pierson had stepped into the lab and yanked her little world out from under her, a sob escaped her lips. She picked up the note and held it to her chest, rocking slightly as she fought against the storm. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't shed a tear over her life.

But she missed Danny. She really missed Danny.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I suppose there's a cliff hanger or several in there ... or maybe a few. Would love to know what you're thinking... questions and thought<strong>**s. Where's Mac, I know you're wondering. The bigger question for me is ... where do you think he is ... :p Has he walked away, given up on the team? Is he hiding, waiting for a chance to pounce? Or has Dale Pierson found a way to get rid of him ... dun dun dun. Just a thought. :p**_


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for all the really great reviews! I wanted to post before I went out for an EARLY walk. It's so hot! :)

* * *

><p><strong>Across the Line 5<strong>

Danny came out of his apartment and took the steps on the front stoop. At the bottom, Don Flack waited on him, dressed down in jeans and a grey t-shirt. He'd called in a few minutes ago and told him he was there.

"Walk and talk," Danny said as he headed toward the subway station.

"Got some place to be, Messer?"

"A little music, a little relaxing," he glanced sideways at Don. "This feels a little more official to me."

"Got some intel this afternoon. We were at a crime scene over on Bleaker. When Finch from Pierson's team arrived, he pulled me aside, told me someone—I'm guessing you—came by the lab today and riled Pierson up."

"He say something to Lindsay?"

"Pierson? What do you think? Your move put her right in Pierson's cross hairs and pushed her into defending you."

"I don't need defending."

"But it forced her to step out of a tight shell she's had to protect herself with," Flack sighed. "He's playing a game with her, with all of them."

"We knew that, Flack."

"Yeah, but Finch said to tell you to be careful. Pierson's already got Lindsay on a tight string. Finch thinks he might be using her to get to you. Or someone else."

"Who? Mac? Stella? He's using her," Danny spat out the words, "it doesn't matter why."

"Maybe it does, as he's doing it with her permission. She's smarter than he thinks she is," Flack stopped and turned to Danny. "I've seen how you've been with her the last few months, hostile doesn't even touch it. So I was a little surprised to know you went by to see her. I don't know what's going on all of the sudden, and I don't know what she has to do with any of it, but she's got a good reason for staying. Don't make it harder on her."

"She needed a friend. I needed to be that friend."

It was something he'd realized—really realized—since seeing her that afternoon.

Flack let out a breath, the surprise on his face just another indication of how hard he had pushed Lindsay away.

"It took you this long to figure that out?" When Danny sighed, Flack put a hand on his arm. "I'm just passing along the information, man. There aren't rules here to break or circumvent, not ones that we know. Just, be careful. Stay aware. You went to the lab intentionally to stir things up."

"I went by to see Monroe," Danny grimaced and turned to start walking agian. He was aware of the time that was passing and that he'd asked Lindsay to be there at nine. He didn't want her to get there and think it was some cruel joke. "And ... maybe to stir things up. We keep walking Pierson's line, we won't catch him making a mistake."

"You think he will?"

"He's dirty, Flack. He's as dirty a cop as we've seen. I just don't understand what he has on Mac, and what happened to him."

"You think Mac's actually gone somewhere?"

"What?" Danny cast a glance at him. "Have you seen him?"

"No. But I'm not expecting to. Not until there's a move Mac can make to bring Pierson down. You know Mac's working this. You know he didn't just walk away, leave all of this unsolved, _Sinclair's_ case unsolved, and head off to Tahiti or something."

"Maybe. And maybe he got tired," but even that sounded wrong. "He's just not working with us."

"Maybe, and maybe he's protecting you."

"Me? I'd have done anything for him, followed him anywhere. He could have asked me to do anything."

"But maybe he left you out of his plans for a reason." Now at the subway station, Flack stopped, waited until Danny turned toward him. "Maybe Mac knew you would eventually stir up things with Pierson, but I think what Mac always figured would be for you to have Lindsay's back. What do you think?"

Danny honestly didn't know. Mac knew he could be a hot head at times, and he knew he was loyal.

"Where are you meeting her?"

For a moment Danny stared at Flack, then shook his head in defeat. How could everyone around him seem to know him better than he knew himself?

"Manny's."

Flack smiled. He knew the club and knew what it meant to Danny. "Be careful, Danny."

He turned, and headed back down the street to where he'd parked his car.

"Any other advice?" Danny called out.

Flack turned around. "Yeah. Maybe this time, hold on. It was the letting go that messed you up, _Messer._"

Not knowing whether to laugh or growl, Danny shook his head, and headed into the subway station. He wasn't sure what Flack had intended to accomplish with the brief conversation. Flack'd been careful over the last few months, in what he said. Neither had been happy when Lindsay seemed to be gravitating to Pierson's side, but he hadn't spoken against her, and maybe he'd always defended her.

But he'd kept it light until now.

Be careful, so he'd been warned, not just by Flack but by someone on Pierson's team, which meant that at least Finch was looking out for her. It was a piece of information that might be useful later. Not everyone was, or was completely on Pierson's side.

He grinned a little, but it slowly slipped away.

Because he also knew he'd riled Pierson up. Maybe he'd done it intentionally. Flack was right. He could have called the lab, and had Lindsay meat him.

But he'd wanted to make a move on the man's turf.

And, well ... the cookie idea had felt to right. The box and the tissue had been on the bakery, but had worked.

Her was tired of staying where he'd been put. He wasn't a dog to be told sit and stay. In fact, they'd all done that for far too long. The easiest way to maintain power was to fracture your common enemy. Pierson had divided them. His actions kept them all at bay.

Which told Danny there was something they needed to look at, to pay attention to. It was something they needed to do together.

Flack hadn't told him to stay away from Lindsay, but he'd had said to be careful. Maybe it was time to take a stand, but it needed to be planned out. Calculated. Pierson was watching and he would make it harder on Lindsay.

And who knew what she was doing that Pierson needed to be ignoring.

Hold on.

Something told Danny that was what he intended to do, even if he didn't know what to do with this meeting.

~ny~

She was running a little late, but she texted Danny to tell him so. She was careful when leaving the lab. She didn't trust Pierson, and she trusted the people he'd hired even less.

So as she left the lab, she didn't follow the most direct route to Manny's. She walked to she subway and wove around the city, before she stopped and changed clothes at a little deli where she could grab something to eat as she walked. Who knew what kind of food could be found at the place Danny had chosen?

She then made her way along the streets, and took a long winding path around Manhattan to Manny's. She thought of her first months in New York, and how she had used her spare time to explore the city alone. She hadn't had the time, or the desire since Pierson took over the lab. Life suddenly became more ... focused and tired.

It was past nine when she finally reached Manny's. She adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, and took a moment to study the sign. It was a simple building, as old as the street that it was found. The sign of neon tubing simply stated the name. She opened the door, and the music slid out, a melody of jazz, layer with sound and harmony.

It was dim inside. She moved through the smokey crowd, and took it in. People sat around small tables, some turned to watch the band. She didn't see Danny in the crowd, so she kept to the back and watched. There were three trumpets and a trombone, their sound intentionally muted as the music mesmerized as much as the people, with obvious skill, played together in a way that spoke of years of knowing each other, of playing together.

The man who played the piano, played with effortless skill, his face relaxed, his fingers gliding over the keys with loving knowledge. As she watched his hands move, her inner core responded to the sweep of calm that the music brought.

And she pushed out thoughts of work, of the past three months.

She knew Danny had saved this for last, and knew the music was special to Danny as well.

"I was a little afraid you weren't going to show up."

She turned toward Danny. "I texted you. Things ran over."

He slowly shook his head. "You left the lab more than an hour ago, Lindsay—" he reached up and ran a finger over her cheek. "But you can explain that to me, later."

She hadn't expected him to keep up with her, but she wasn't surprised that he knew. She hadn't lied to him. The long trip around the city had been necessary, but she should have left earlier in order to absorb the winding path she'd taken. Pierson had demanded a batch of paperwork turned in on the Sinclair evidence before she left. He generated more paperwork in covering his tail than she ever would have expected. It was more than being thorough.

She suspected that it was a diversion.

But she didn't know why he would want to keep them from finding the truth, and that, she thought, was why she stayed, why she put up with his mocking, his inefficiency, and let him separate her from her team. She wanted to know why.

She needed those answers.

If it made her cross a line, _knowingly ..._

Danny took her hand in his and led her through the crowd. She lifted a brow when he stopped at a side table, near the piano. It was obviously a reserved spot.

"Piano player's my cousin, Jimmy. A decade ago, we played in band together."

Lindsay smiled as she sat. "There's no one like Jimmy. You said it once before."

"Yeah, I guess I did," he chose the seat next to her, and leaned in a little. "You all right, Montana?"

She leaned back, wary. "What? No scathing retort, questioning glance."

"I know I've been tough on you."

"Tough?" she questioned. "You've been very clear about what you think of me."

"I don't understand it, or maybe I didn't. Couldn't. It looked like you were playing for his team."

His words hit a little close to home. She tried for a laugh, but she knew it came across weak. "It's not baseball Danny. I don't know if there's a home team and away team, a good and a bad."

His blue eyes, already in the shadows of the dim light, seemed to darken. "Isn't there?"

"There's a lot of good people at the lab, even some people who've stood up for you—and they're not there anymore. Some are, and some have families and children to feed and care for. They need the job."

"And you?"

"You have to walk the line with Pierson, Danny."

"No," he slowly shook his head. "Why did you stay?"

She pulled back a little, not knowing what to say. She'd lost something in the last few months, she realized. She'd been forced to be careful.

But looking into his eyes, she saw a piece of Danny, part of what she'd missed, she'd longed for.

She lowed her gaze, thoughts spinning. "Nothing's the same, anymore."

He said nothing.

When she looked up, he'd turned, his eyes on the band. She couldn't read him or read his gaze. She opened her mouth, told herself to talk to him, but stopped herself.

She didn't know what to say.

He looked back at her. His eyes had softened. "I'm sorry."

"For ..."

He let out a short breath and shook his head. "For the fact that you doubt me. That you have reason to." He reached out and took her hand. "Dance with me, Montana."

~ny~

He'd seen her hesitate, and that wasn't something he was used to. She could get nervous, but it never stopped her. She embraced life and moments. She'd never been afraid to stand up to anyone.

Though she had better control than he.

Her reaction to him now told him about how the last few months had effected her. She'd learned to be cautious, more than she needed to be. He could blame that on Pierson, but he knew he was partly to blame.

He'd blamed her, vented his frustration in her direction since eh couldn't do it toward Pierson.

Or Mac, who'd conveniently disappeared, and though he kept in touch with Stella, he'd severed contact with everyone else. Stella was right. Mac had something up his sleeve, but he'd shut the rest of them out.

Danny sighed. In some ways, it was the same thing he'd done with Lindsay.

He led her onto the dance floor and folded her into his arms. The music around them was slow, like a long flowing river that meandered through the city. Time simply stopped as they moved together. There was no place to be, other than here.

For a moment he concentrated on her, on how she fit, on how it felt to have her there. He'd missed her, just missed her. Missed her smile, missed her ribbing.

And he regretted that he'd missed a dozen opportunities to do just this.

He thought about what Stella had said. The people in the lab, the place itself, was her family. Could he blame her for staying? For fighting for what were hers? For walking Pierson's line? He wasn't sure that Flack and and Stella were right in thinking that she might be waging her own private war against Pierson, but it wouldn't surprise him.

Either way, she'd fought alone. And she'd fought lonely. He'd seen it in her eyes.

It would take more than the single step he'd made with her tonight for her to trust him, really trust him again.

He thought back to all those months ago when he'd discovered her love for football.

"_Don't tell me you know a little something about football."_

"_Is that so hard to believe?"_

"_No, it's just dangerous. I might ask you to marry me."_

He'd been half joking before, but he'd known in some inner part of himself that she was special. Outside of a few short days when she'd first arrived, there had always been an easy trust, an easy feel, between them.

He didn't like that he'd lost it.

She pulled away suddenly and he sighed when she took out her phone. He tried to get a glimps of the message, but she shuddered it, intentionally, he thought, and slid it back into his pocket. The look in her eyes deflated.

"I've got to return this ..."

"Pierson?" he asked, and saw the guards rise up. "Awfully defensive, _Montana_."

She took a step back, her eyes alive with hurt. It surprised him. "Don't. Don't you dare use that on me that way. It's not fair. I believed—"

She turned and started to walk away from him, but he reached and grabbed onto her. "Don't," he said quietly, "don't go. I'm sorry."

She slowly closed her eyes. "It means something to me, Danny. Your Montana means something. Don't use it as a cheap comeback."

_Not if I mean something_.

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I've got to call him back."

"Just come back."

She looked up at him, and the uncertainty in her brown eyes broke his heart. "All right. If I can."

~ny~

Lindsay stepped out into the night, exhausted. The range of emotions she'd felt in the last couple of hours had ranged from utter delight and happiness, to fear and hurt.

But nothing had prepared her for the knife in her gut when he'd used Montana to aim directly at her heart. She could take the cut from Pierson, but not from danny.

She pulled out her phone and dialed the number she had memorized, knowing it was a decoy and it was being used to hide his tracks.

He picked up and she sighed as she glanced back into the club. "You were right," she said without preamble. "Danny's going to be a problem."

"Are you with him right now?"

"Yes."

"You think you can get rid of him?"

She blinked back tears, still reeling from the way he'd turned on her with _Montana_. She'd spent three months longing to hear it, only for him to use it caustically.

Blaming her, in so many ways.

"He stayed away for three months. How hard can it be?"

But it made her sad, because as much as she longed to go back in and be with him, there was part of him that was a stranger to her now.

And she knew she had changed. It wouldn't be the same.

The man on the other end of the line muttered something. "Don't underestimate him."

"What do I do?"

"Take care of it."

The connection cut off, leaving Lindsay alone in the summer night. She looked back at the club. She should have passed on Danny's invitation.

She should have been stronger.

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><p><strong><em>So ... let me know what you think. Mwh ha ha. :p<em>**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Loved reading your observations. It helps sometimes because your guess remind me of things I may have missed, so it's not just to laugh at your "distress." I love to know what you're thinking, just in case... but I'm glad to know ... well, I'll just let you read on ..._**

**Thanks again! Keep letting me know what you're thinking!**

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><p><strong>Across the Line 6<strong>

Lindsay returned, only for a moment to thank him, say goodbye, and pick up her bag. She had to go, she said, and she'd promised to call him later.

Danny wondered if she would, and it worried him that there was a doubt.

Did she think he'd forgotten about the new regulations and protocol? She didn't work crime scenes now, not directly, not under Pierson.

Pierson had his own reasons for selecting his team, personally picking and bringing in its members. But he didn't know why. And he didn't know why Lindsay would be going out to work now, when all she'd been intrusted with in the last few months was paperwork.

Unless she wasn't just entrusted with paperwork.

She slipped out of the club, not looking back. She wouldn't have seen the scowl on his face.

She might not be lying, but she was definitely holding something back. There was a determination in her demeanor that he recognized, that was the Lindsay he remembered, but she didn't completely look him in the eye.

He stood, his hand closing around the rung of the chair as he pushed it in.

_Ms. Monroe _was hiding something, and he wanted to know what it was.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he left the club seconds behind her and headed to the subway station, an assumption on his part. He had no plan, he simply followed the most obvious path she might have taken. He spotted her as she stepped onto a train, and headed south.

He got on another car on the same train, and took a spot standing, where he could see her through the windows. He looked around, noted the people around him, and made sure to stand in their midst. He watched her carefully, tried to remain out of sight.

He'd been on the subway with her before, so he could tell she sat just a little bit straighter, a little more aware. She looked at the people around her, not just people watching—as was her habit—but suspiciously.

As the train approached station after station, she remained still—so still, in fact, that he nearly missed the moment she moved and slipped out the doors.

""Scuse me," he muttered as he pushed through and made it out, just in time to catch her leaving the platform. She went up to the street level and moved quickly, almost as if she knew he was following her.

She walked several blocks, past two other stations, before slipping down into another, and chosing a different line. The new route took her across to Brooklyn, but where she moved trains swiftly three more times, crossing back over into Manhattan before heading north toward the Bronx.

Danny sighed as he made it onto the last train just before the doors closed. He'd nearly lost her twice.

"Not in a hurry to get where you're going, are you?" he muttered, and wondered if he should just confront her.

He might have, but he wasn't entirely sure that she knew he was there. Whatever her reasons, she wasn't in a hurry to get wherever she was going.

"Where are you taking us, _Montana?_" he whispered, watching her through the glass as she finally leaned her head back against the window and relaxed.

~ny~

After three months Lindsay had learned not to focus on regrets. Whatever her choices had been, Danny had made his own as well. He'd been the one to freeze her out, to question her motives, and raise his own walls between them.

She didn't blame him. They'd all been hit hard with the changes.

She leaned her head against her window and thought back to a better time, to the day Danny had taken her out to Coney Island. He'd introduced her to a dozen spectacles, and never really figured out that he was the real attraction for her. His accent had deepened as he'd talked about growing up in New York, how his grandfather had brought him out to Coney Island long ago and regaled him with stories.

He'd told her some of them, and buying her a hotdog, he'd taken her out to the pier. Somehow he'd pulled one Montana story from her after another.

It had been chilly, she remembered. Fall was moving quickly towards Christmas. She'd been a little homesick, and he'd figured it out. She could still remember standing on their pier with him, looking out over the water. The wind picked up a little and she'd closed her eyes.

She'd grown a little nervous all of the sudden. Something between them had changed. She remembered rattling off facts about Coney Island she'd read, facts about the ocean. They just spilled out of her, coming from a trove of information she'd read, researched and filed away while growing up in Montana.

He didn't seem to mind the barrage of facts.

He's eyes had gentled, softened. It was a rare open moment for him. He'd reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

And for a moment she'd thought he would kiss her.

He didn't ...

But she remembered that moment under the sun, standing on their pier with the scent of the ocean and the sounds of carnival around her, and Danny ... something deepening with Danny.

As the train announced her stop, she got up and grabbed hold of the pole to steady herself, ready to move. She'd taken this stop in the last few months, and she worked a number of crime scenes. She was aware of the neighborhood.

It was a warm outside, edging towards humid. The air hit her as she stepped off the train, and headed up into the night. Even though it was late, long past sundown, there were people out on their stoops in small groups. She could hear a baby cry in the distance.

Someone was shouting.

Her hand rested in her pocket as she began to walk. She looked around, and made sure she knew her surroundings. She had to be careful.

People watched her walk past, but overtly.

She past an apartment, and eyed the coming alleyway carefully. Her hand closed around her service weapon she had tucked in her pocket.

But she was unprepared for the attack.

Hooded and shadowed, he came out of nowhereWit little effort, he tossed her against the brick wall of the building.

She let out a quick grunt and moved to turn.

He'd jerked her hand before she could pull her weapon. He pulled them back, behind her.

She felt the brick slam painfully against her skin. She fought to free her hands.

"You want to fight me little girl?"

The voice was familiar—but she couldn't place it. She got her hand free, and used her nails on him, on his bare hands, her hip to shove him back, fought to turn on him, to execute a twist.

But he grabbed her again, thrust her against the wall, and this time got a good hold on her wrists.

"Time to come with papa."

~ny~

Danny saw the man approach Lindsay, but he was still two blocks away when he grabbed her. He draw out his gun, and took off running.

He felt helpless when he saw her shoved against the building, as he watched her fight. He called out ...

And watched as the black figure emerged from the dark alley in a flash. Danny heard flesh meet flesh in quick, staccato beats. Lindsay was released, and her attacker pinned against the wall.

She managed the spin around and pull her own weapon.

"Get out of here," she commanded, her chest heaving. The man in black backed off, into the shadows.

Danny slowed, watched as her attacker glanced at her and then took off. He didn't look back, didn't notice him.

He lowered his own weapon as he stopped, feet from her. They both fought to catch their breath as they stared at each other in the dim light of the alley.

He holstered his gun slowly, his eyes still on her.

"You all right?"

Slowly she nodded, her gun still gripped in her hand. "What are you doing here, Danny?"

"Trying to find out what's going on."

She looked away from him, and struggled with whatever dilemma he'd walked into. "You shouldn't have come."

"I made the mistake of putting blinders up in the first place. I'm not doing it again."

She turned her head and looked at the man who'd swooped in, like something out of a movie. Dressed in black, from head to toe. Her eyes flashed, asking.

"It's all right, Lindsay," he said.

And Danny stepped close, recognizing the voice. He reached out, just as the man turned.

He needed a shave, his hair was longer.

But he was the same. Still steady, still strong.

"_Mac_."

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><p><em><strong>So ... what are you thinking now? Questions all answered?<strong>_


	7. Chapter 7

**I apologize for the wait. I left my power cord to my computer. I managed to get it charged with my car charger long enough to get this worked on and (hopefully posted). Please let me know what you think! I'll try to get another boost soon. **

**Also, if you're reading this on Tuesday June 21, remember tonight's Summer Viewing Party on twitter. If you can start your "**_Stuck on You_**" episode at 9 pm, then do so. If not, talk about #Stuckonyou and #CSINY sometime between today and tomorrow (or anytime)!  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Across the Line7<strong>

For a moment Mac looked at Danny, his dark gaze unreadable. Waves of emotion seemed to pass between the two men; questions, fears ... and relief.

Then Mac turned back toward Lindsay. "Lindsay, we've got to move."

She nodded as she holstered her weapon.

"You're just both going to walk away?"

Lindsay looked back, and held a finger to her lips as she motioned with her head.

Danny followed. Mac stopped at an old beige Sedan parked at the end of the alley and opened the trunk. He pulled out a long black stick attached to a cord the was connected to something inside the trunk. Lindsay stepped close and Mac ran it over her, then through over her bag.

"You're clear."

She nodded and stepped back, motioning to Danny with her head. He stepped up, did the same with Danny. The machine beeped as it passed over his wallet.

Mac reached out and tugged it out, thumbing through it until he found a small black disk, no larger than his pinky. He sighed and handed it to Danny.

"Take everything out of value and toss the wallet with the chip over there," he replaced the equipment and shut the trunk. "I'm assuming you're coming with us."

Danny did as he was directed.

"I recognized his voice, Mac," Lindsay said quietly as she opened up the back door of the sedan. "I heard that voice in one of Pierson's meetings. I don't think I've ever seen him before, but I know that voice," she held up her hands, "and I think I got trace."

Mac reached out and affectionately lay a hand on her cheek, the gesture warm even though his eyes were grim. "Good girl."

Mac retrieved some supplies from his trunk and handed them to Lindsay while Danny dealt with his wallet. As soon as Danny slid into the back seat with Lindsay, Mac made a final visual sweep of the alley, and got in. Seconds later, he pulled away.

A thousand questions were storming though his mind, but he could only watched as Lindsay efficiently dealt with the trace under her nails. His mind flashed back to that moment, slammed against the wall.

His hands on her.

Unable to reach her in time. Unable to stop him ...

The scene replayed itself over and over again.

When she closed the last evidence bag and carefully labeled it, he reached out and took her hand. He pushed up the sleeve of her long sleeve t-shirt, and let out a breath as he noted the early marks that would turn into bruises.

He ran a light finger over them.

"We'll need to photograph these," she said, he looked up to see her turning her arm, surveying the damage. She looked more pleased than upset.

He didn't get it. It just didn't process.

"He had his hands on you," he muttered as looked up at him. The look in her eyes startled him. He'd seen her determined and focused, he'd marveled when those brown depths had sparkled with humor.

Now that he saw into them, he saw what he hadn't wanted to see for months. Underneath the surface, she wasn't as settled as she had seemed. Maybe she held herself in check, but underneath that brave exterior, she was shaken.

Had he missed it, all this time?

Danny had no words, not of comfort or of condemnation. Whatever her reasons for getting in this mess, all he knew was that he didn't understand it.

"Lindsay," he murmured and swallowed over the lump in his throat. He tugged her into his arms, and she settled against him. Like on the dance floor, it took no adjustment. She just fit.

As he felt her body relax against his, something inside of him loosened. She was okay, he reminded himself.

And held on.

"Danny," he looked down into Lindsay's eyes, and watched her blink back sleep. "I know I owe you an explanation—"

"You owe me nothing," he said, his voice rough. He rested his forehead against the top of her head and for a moment simply breathed her in. He'd treated her like hell, and thought she was doing worse. Whatever she had done, because of her since of justice or her loyalty to Mac, neither could he blame.

It was his fault for making her the enemy.

And as he held on, a memory flashed, so normal that he hadn't thought of it in ages.

Hadn't thought to treasure it ...

_They walked into the conference room for a meeting. Her eyes were alight with laughter that was down right distracting him. He'd teased her about something, won some sort of light bet because of a technicality. It had been something silly, something by chance that had come from the mass spectrometer and a piece of evidence. They must have been running high from overtime._

"_No," she'd held out a hand as he sat down next her her, "you sit over there."_

"_Why do I have to sit over there?" he'd countered._

"_Because you're going to get me into trouble."_

"_I haven't _done_ anything."_

_She'd laughed as he'd moved obediently, but had quickly straightened her features when Mac came in and started turning on the tv screens. Minutes in, Danny had looked over at her and caught her eye. He smiled and she smiled back, as if sharing in some private hilarity neither of them understood._

_It took an effort to pay attention. They kept looking over at each other, catching glances, and stepping to the edge of laughter._

_He shook his head. He couldn't remember another time when they'd been so advertly on the edge of juvenile behavior, or that he alone had been, especially in front of Mac._

He looked up front, and met Mac's eyes in the rearview mirror. He was angry, but it wasn't toward Lindsay. Not anymore.

Answers would have to come later.

~ny~

At some point, he dozed off and woke only when Mac pulled to a stop. Danny didn't need to look at his watch. The sun was coming up over the trees outside.

They were in the woods, parked outside a lone cabin. Mac turned off the car, and the world darkened, lit only by the early rays of the sun.

Mac glanced back. "She asleep?"

"No," Lindsay answered back sleepily as she leaned away from Danny and rubbed her eyes. She looked at Danny, then at Mac. "I'll get the evidence in, start working it."

Danny got out of the car with Mac, but stopped to watch Lindsay carry her bag and the evidence she'd taken from her own body into the cabin.

"You brought her into this."

Mac's face was grim as he sighed. "None of us asked to be into this."

"I would have, if you'd asked," Danny bit off. "You realize what she's been through the past few months?"

The look in Mac's eyes told Danny that Mac knew more than Pierson's treatment of Lindsay. Danny spun and walked a few steps away from him. "It threw me. It all threw me. You were gone and she was kissing up to Pierson. But that was under your command." He slowly turned around. "You realize it would have been on you if something would have happened to her tonight."

"It would have been on Pierson and his army," Mac bit off, the let out a breath, "and yes, on me. We can fight about this Danny, or I can give you the pieces you don't have."

He nearly said he didn't want them. The battle inside was breaking him into two—his feelings for Mac, and those he had for Lindsay. He couldn't say he was surprised that the ones he felt for her were winning.

Nor could he displace the guilt for how he'd treated her.

But he took a deep breath, his eyes on his boss, his mentor—in every way that counted.

With a jerk of his head, Mac motion them inside.

Danny followed. The cabin was rustic on the inside, the decor simplistic. The front room was small, and mainly used as a kitchen. There were fly fishing rods leaning against the wall, a simple prep table set up beside kitchen fixtures that probably dated back to the 70s.

Mac stopped, and turned to face Danny. "You need to realize that if I explain this to you, you'll likely be implicated in this if and when this goes south."

Something twisted in Danny's gut. If Mac crossed a line, in told him how deep the problem at the lab went.

And something of what Lindsay was dealing with.

Suddenly the weight and weariness she carried around with her seemed fitting.

"Me have a problem with breaking the rules," he said lightly. "You know me better than that."

A small smile broke through Mac's grim features and he turned and led the way into the open great room.

This was Mac's headquarters, Danny thought. Several long tables filled the space that was stacked with portable forensic equipment and computers.

"You need to know, Danny, that I never intended to leave you out."

"You didn't bring me in."

"I didn't bring anyone in intentionally," Mac countered as he picked up a file and brought it to a small table. He motioned for Danny to join him as he took a seat. "Save possibly Stella, but even she doesn't know about this place or the extent of the issue. She was my line to you, to Hawkes and Flack, when the time comes. Pierson's got a tab on all of you."

"The tracking device."

"How long have I been carrying that around with me?"

"For a long time. Stella discovered one days after I left. The one she found allowed them to listen in on her conversations. Its why I've been careful."

It was hard to take in. "Mac—the way you're talking, this is bigger than Pierson."

"Much bigger," Mac opened the folder and turned it for Danny to see. "This goes back several years, carefully executed and planned out so that someone could instate their own person at the crime lab. I believe Sinclair's death has been planned out at least for a year. That the move to infiltrate the crime lab goes back to ADA Morrison's murder."

Danny thought back. It was one of the first cases he'd worked under Mac's watch. It was still, he thought, considered an unsolved case even though they'd picked up the guy that had killed. Mac believed he'd been contracted, even then.

"They were watchign and analyzing our moves, our system. They were working their players—Pierson for one—into key positions of influence."

"He's a captain in the police department. He's been in the system for longer than this."

"Yes, and probably dirty for most of his ride. However they connected with him, they did. It's not just Sinclair's murder investigation that has stalled since he was moved into place. A number of key cases have been—I believe—influenced."

"You're thinking mob?"

"Something like the mob. I think its new money, less influenced by familial connections. Drugs are at the center, in the same way that prohibition allowed the crime families to build their influence and wealth. But we don't know who."

"You're after the who."

"We need all the pieces before we can stop this."

Mac took the time to show him what he'd collected. Thanks to Stella, and some intel from Lindsay, he knew the names of a few beat cops who he suspected were under Pierson's thumb, but Lindsay's attack was the first that would give him a direct connection to Pierson. He had evidence that Pierson had altered some evidence in Sinclair's murder investigation, and a few other investigations. Some of it had happened while Mac was still at the lab.

He'd taken home some files, and made copies of key evidence over the course of the days that Pierson had been assigned at the lab. Pierson had ordered him out, giving Mac a loophole, albeit weak, to not return the files or documents. It was a bad move on Pierson's part, and showed his weakness, that he'd pushed Mac out too quickly, without following regulations and protcol. Danny now udnerstood why no one investigated Mac's disappearance.

No one wanted the truth brought to light.

The documents and Mac's own investigation explained why he hadn't fought it. He was waiting, and collecting evidence.

"But," Danny looked around the make shift lab. "The results you collect here won't be admissible in court."

"Not directly, but they are leading us to bigger people, a larger picture. Taking care of Pierson won't clear the lab, or establish its integrity. There are people there that were put in place before he came on. If it comes out, and it will, we'll lose a number of cases because of his invluence."

"And put murderers back on the street," Danny surmised.

Mac nodded. "It has to be worth it."

"Worth it," Danny bit off the words. He had processed as much as he could, but he couldn't process Lindsay's involvement. It was clear—at least to him—that Mac had left her on the front line, and left her to do it alone.

She'd been trapped, unable to talk to him about any of it. The bugs, the layers, had kept her from reaching out.

Had she been afraid?

Maybe she wouldn't admit it, but Danny knew she had.

"You used Lindsay," his voice was controlled. "You left her in there with him."

"I didn't bring anyone in intentionally," Mac repeated. "She was with me when Pierson and the Chief let me go. She was my only contact."

"You made a choice Mac," Danny shoved back from the table. "Do you even care that she has bruises from tonight? That the guy could have reached her before she reached the rendevous with you?"

"He did it to pull me out."

"So she's done then?" Danny asked, his breath controlled. "She's being pulled? She won't go back."

When Mac held his gaze Danny cursed and slammed the chair back, so that it crashed into the wall.

"She's not a soldier under your command, Mac. She's not an enlistee."

"But it was my choice."

At her calm voice, Danny turned. She stood across the room from them, her gaze hard and steady. She met his anger with her own and it sizzled.

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><p><em><strong>Remember one of the holes I wrote myself into? Yeah, this was one of them. I really, really hope this isn't too far fetched. I felt like I was going a little superherobat cave here :p ... you know, the secret lair of Mac Taylor? Of course, if he is Super Mac than he has to have a secret lair somewhere ...**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Wow! _Long time no see! So sorry for the delay. I left my power cord at my parents, then apparently broke my dc connection thing, managed to get a few chapters uploaded to another place, than FF decided not to let me upload it ... and, well. Here it is. :P_**

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><p><strong>Across the Line 8<strong>

"Maybe we should take this outside," Danny muttered through clenched teeth. He wasn't sure who he said it to-Mac or Lindsay. He just knew it was two different things, two different arguments at war in his heart and mind.

"We can't. We have to be careful out here," she walked over to Mac and handed him a folder before continuing. "I contacted Stella, and she's made arrangements. She's going to call in an sick day for you to explain your absence today."

Danny just stared her down, and Lindsay sighed.

"Mac, can you give us a few minutes?" she asked, her eyes on Danny.

Mac pushed away from the table. He rested a hand on her arm, and for a moment his eyes met hers. She had always felt a connection with him, and had always trusted him.

But the last few months had brought them closer together. She'd spent a dozen evenings at the cabin somewhere outside of the city. He'd talked to her of his time in the marines, of leaving the corp, of meeting Claire and settling into some semblance of civilian life.

Then of 9/11 and starting over again.

No, Mac hadn't intentionally brought her in, but they were in it together.

When he was gone, Lindsay stood across the table from Danny. He was angry, on the edge of a line that she'd seen him cross only a few times since meeting him.

And most of those instances were in the last few months.

"I made the choice myself."

It made her cold to think back, to that day Mac had been fired. She still remembered the shock of Pierson's words, of the look on Mac's face as he was escorted out.

Maybe he'd clashed with Sinclair a number of times, but he and Mac had walked the same line. Justice mattered and that wall of trust in the system had been questioned.

"I caught up with him in the elevator," Lindsay murmured, "I made noises out loud about him leaving and moaning about what we should do. I played into Pierson's perception of me—the barely educated girl from Montana, lost in a great big city."

At her words, Danny managed a laugh, despite the anger. She smiled slightly.

"I didn't know what else to do, so I handed him my uncle's address. I met him there that night with Stella. He stayed there for a few days, until he had to move. Pierson figured it out. Luckily he got out in time, and he'd already made some contingency plans just in case. He got me a secure cell phone, that accepts calls from him. It also only works if its a secure place. There was a week I didn't hear from Mac and I couldn't call out, all because there was a bug in my apartment."

"You're apartment."

"Probably yours, too."

She watched him deal with the emotions. There was the anger, and the natural protective streak he had for the people he was close to, the streak that was in there for her.

"And Pierson had already brought you in as his mole."

"He offered, and I accepted. He doesn't even remember I'm there half the time."

"And I let you have it," he turned away from her, angry with himself. "I wanted to hurt you. I was easier to do that than to take on the people that deserved it."

Lindsay stepped over and set a hand on his arm. He wasn't just talking about Pierson, or the people higher up. He was also talking about Mac. "Danny, you didn't know."

"I knew you," he didn't look at her.

"None of us knew anything."

He turned toward her. "Don't—don't forgive me for it."

"I never blamed you for it," she said, reeling a little under the intensity of his gaze. Did he—could he—know what his expression told her? "I rest the blame at Pierson's door. It's where it belongs."

"I hurt you."

She swallowed, "Yes. And maybe you can make it up to me."

It surprised her when he yanked her into his arms. He buried his face into her air and murmured something she didn't hear.

"Danny."

"If you go back, he'll have put things together. Don't go back."

"Not necessarily. The way he fought, the way it all happened, I think he would think you're the one who was there. Besides, Pierson wants Mac and knows I'm tied to him already. Until he gets Mac, he needs me so he's not going to do anything," she pushed back, but he held on—kept her in the circle of his arms. "Danny, my uncle's apartment was ransacked. Uncle Freddy had to move and Mac's been on the move since. Pierson knows I have contact or have had contact with Mac."

"That's why you were jumping on and off trains tonight. You weren't trying to lose me."

"No," She stared into his blue eyes, and felt her core simply loosen. She'd missed him so much—but she'd never known the pure intensity he was showing her now. His look, those deep and vibrant feelings, channeled directly into her heart; into her soul.

"And I brought him to you. I was the one that was bugged. I put you in more danger."

"Danny—I've learned a lot about myself in the last few months. I witnessed a horrible crime when I was in high school, and it's driven me more than I realized. I've learned that I'm never going to cower, alone, again. I've fought to have the skills I need to do what I have to do. So I'll do what I need to."

At his confused look, she reached behind her and found his hand. She threaded her fingers into his, then pulled it around before leading him over toward a long, narrow sofa. There she told him about when her friends were murdered, how she'd been in the bathroom, stayed in the bathroom.

Even after she'd crawled to the door and looked out, she'd been immobile. Her breath had been taken away. It had taken her too long to get up, to go out. Everyone said her friends, the girls, had died instantly. That there had been nothing she could have done.

She would have been killed too.

But she wasn't helpless anymore. She would do what she needed to do, with the skills she had.

"I won't be reckless, but I won't be immobilized when there is something I can do, something that I have the skills to do."

Danny saw something in Lindsay's expression, and it brought on dozens of emotions; sorrow for what she'd been through, pride for how shed dealt with it, how she'd survived and the resolutions to herself, and fear for what those resolutions meant.

"And I'm supposed to just watch you," he asked over the bubble of anxiety, "knowing you're on the line?"

"I'm supposed to walk away when we're this close?"

Danny cursed, he pushed up and walked away from her, pacing off the nervous energy. Dozens of thoughts were flying through his brain. He couldn't think, couldn't process any of it. Here she was, when he'd already done so much damage himself, in a position where he could lose her. "Do you realize how long the Feds have been after the members of the mob? Do you realize how long this can take?"

"Mac doesn't know if we can bring whomever it is down, but we can get Pierson out. We can restore the lab. But we have to know the name of the enemy. We have to know who's pulling strings. The implications of what that person can do, what they can get away with ..."

Murder, Danny thought, and not just murder. They would have carte blanche to do whatever they wanted int the city.

And as it was New York, export their crime to the rest of the world.

He looked at her, really looked at her, and he saw the person he'd come to respect, come to know ... and quite possibly, come to love. He had so much inside of him for her, and he wasn't prepared for it.

He'd lost Aiden. Her life had slipped through his fingers. He'd come very close to losing Louie, and that had been hard enough after spending half of a lifetime telling himself he didn't care.

But with Lindsay, there was so much more.

"You don't know what you're asking me."

"I'm asking you to trust me."

"No," slowly he shook his head. "From the moment I met you, something inside of me started up, or ... recognized part of me, inside you. I messed up. I'm prone to that. But I didn't know exactly ... I don't even know now, what you are to me."

He reached up, and ran a gentle hand over her cheek. "You mean a lot to me, Lindsay. I care about you."

Her gaze softened, "Danny."

He felt like he was taking a chance, and was afraid to step to far out without a net, but the look in her eyes gave him hope. She hadn't turned him away, she hadn't stopped him—at least yet—with the we should stay friends speech.

He closed his eyes and thought of her face, of the myriad of expressions that he'd come to know after the last year. There was deep thought, concentration, the ticked off expression, surprise, laughter, sneakiness and snarkiness, and the delight of discovery—a lit that only listed the tip of his favorites.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw fear in hers—fear that he would ask her to step away, or maybe fear of what she felt for him. He couldn't be sure.

"I can't ask you to walk away from this. I can only tell you that things have changed for me. That they changed before this even started. I need you to know that its more for me."

Lindsay stared at him, for once lost for words. She didn't ramble in nervousness, she didn't pull away, she just stared at him.

"Danny," she murmured, and leaned forward to touched her lips toward his.

The gentle pressure wasn't enough, it would never be enough, he thought as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her towards him. As he deepened the kiss, he felt his heart settle.

When she leaned back, her brown eyes were full of emotion.

Whatever else happened, they were in this together.

~ny~

They worked side by side processing, working through the evidence. It felt right. It had been so long since he'd felt the easy companionship he'd found with her while on the job. The results of the trace from under her nails were processed and she ran them through a the databases they were somehow able to access on Mac's computer.

He'd put a few details together. Mac wasn't working outside of the law, exactly. The FBI knew of his plans, his location. Several members of the New York government were concerned about the direction in the lab, but their positions weren't official. The equipment was borrowed from other labs, or from the FBI or a number of connections. The cabin was on loan from an old friend from the marines.

They had sat down for something to eat, an odd event in the midst of lab equipment. When the computer signaled a processing completion, Lindsay retrieved it, and sat down at the table beside Danny and across from Mac.

"His DNA is connected to four different murders over the last ten years."

"Four—" Danny took the paper and studied the results. "But we don't have a name."

"We didn't need a name," Lindsay said and reached to pick up a photograph. Mac has compiled a file of cops that have been moved, transferred or personally requested by Pierson."

"It's longer than you think," Mac told him. "But not all of them are his allies. He keeps his enemies close."

Lindsay reached for another printout. "His name is Max Holder. He works out of the 17th Precinct, and while he has not been transferred in the last two years, there was no need in this case—"

"As Pierson's most recent assignment is over the crime lab, which stretches all across New York City. Got it." Danny looked at Mac. "Do what do we do? Pick him up, question him? If Lindsay can identify him—"

"Not yet," Mac said as he studied the profile, "we need to watch him, see where he's going, who he's seeing and what he's doing. We'll see that Don gets the connection between Holder and these murders. He'll have to use basic detective work and keep it out of the crime lab. You can set up some sort of rotation with him, find out where he goes and who he talks to."

"No," Danny said, his voice firm. "You kept me out of this until now, but the only thing that's established for me is that I'm staying close to Montana until this is over."

"Danny—"

"That's putting a bull's eye right on her back," Mac warned him. "She flies below his radar because he underestimates her."

"I think he underestimates me as well," Danny noted.

"Sure he does, but in a different way. For whatever reason, you've been on his radar since the day he first walked into my office. He didn't fire you, but he removed you from the crime lab."

"He leaves me alone."

"Not as alone as you think. He's smart enough to manage his cards, to lay down only what he doesn't need. He won't make a show until he has to. You just haven't done anything he's needed to react to."

Danny looked at Lindsay then, toward the big brown eyes-they softened him, moved him. He'd been drawn to her for longer than he'd realized. "The way things were ... it's changed, Mac. I can't go on doing things like I did," he reached over and took her hand in his. He thought he understood her more than he had ever understood another woman.

And that terrified him.

"Look, I've trusted you to have my back and protect me. You're not just a friend, but my partner. I know you can protect yourself. But I can't risk it. I can't risk _you_. Pierson has an army to do whatever he bids, and you're too close, driving all over the city—It's one thing to say that Pierson needs you and he's keeping you around, it's another to give him overt opportunities to do so."

Lindsay lowered her gaze.

"What?"

"She was driving all over New York City to see you," Mac told him pointedly.

"Not exactly," Lindsay looked over at Mac, her eyes pinched in warning. "But the others at the lab passed off the trips to your team to me, if they could. And it wasn't just to see you. It allowed me to pass off and retrieve information from Stella. She's been gathering it from all kinds of sources, people. She's the center. I'm just the messenger. And I'll still need to do that."

"Work something else out. If Pierson has a line out on me, we use it and take his focus off of you."

"And put it on you?"

Cleared his throat, though it took a moment for either of them to look toward him.

"I'd prefer neither of you put a bull's eye on yourself yet. But since Danny's in this, we can work something out. The more his focus is off you, the more what you do at the lab is hidden."

What she did at the lab? Danny hadn't even considered that. Running erands for Mac was one thing, acting as some sort of cooperate spy right under Pierson's nose …

Danny looked first at Lindsay, then at Mac. The look in Mac's eyes was serious, almost ancient in the way he channeled his focus and his concern. It was for his team, and it was for more than that.

Mac pushed up from his chair. "Let me walk this off, see what I can come up with. If you're in, Danny, then Flack and Stella will step up their game," he smiled softly, then, and slowly shook his head. "I'd tell you two to keep it out of the lab, and that I'm happy for you, but this lab's about the only place you have right now. So, for now, keep it _in_ the lab. This one."

With that, and so much left unsaid, Mac turned and walked from the room. Danny turned and looked at Lindsay. He knew that they were heading back to New York tonight, and that their drop off points would be different. He knew Mac saw a reason to be careful, but ...

He reached out and ran his free hand through her hair, pushing it back away from her face and studying those big brown eyes.

"_Montana_."

It was just a murmur, rough against the quiet of his voice. This was their beginning, he thought, and it would be a beginning.

"I like it better coming from you." Her smile was just a little impish, her eyes sparkled. There were no nerves. There was no hesitation in her eyes.

"I never used it to demean you," he said, thinking of Pierson, "but to goad you a little. To watch you bite back. You were so cute."

"Cute?" she wrinkled her nose and he laughed.

"Just like that," he touched a finger to her nose.

She shook her head and leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder, fitting into the curve of his neck. His arm came up and around her. "No," she agreed. "Even in the last few months, you were never like that with me. He says things like 'Work with me, Montana, and I'll show you how it's done. He was talking about filling out paper work."

Danny could only imagine the look on Pierson's face, or the dozens of quips she'd held back. "Did you say, let me show you how we use this buck knife to skin a fish in Montana?"

Lindsay snorted, as she leaned into him. "Skin a fish?"

"What do you do to a fish?"

"Scale, gut, debone?" She sat back. "I think he did it on purpose anyway. Call me Montana. I got the feeling that he knew you called me that, and he did it on purpose. I think he set out to split us up, or at least see what it did to us."

"I'm sorry. I should have known ... I knew you. I know you." And it was a revelation to him.

"Why did you come back today?" she asked. "Why yesterday and not ..."

"Three months ago?"

Danny thought back over the last few months, then shifted gears to what Stella had said yesterday. Sure, she'd made noises ...

"At first, I was angry," he surmised, "it knocked me off balance. You turned into Pierson's yes man and stopped being ..."

Mine.

He nearly said it, but knew better than to voice that particular word. It was a little territorial, even for her.

He shrugged it off. "And then we were completely separated. You talked to Stella a lot when you came to the scene, or you talked to her more than to me. Maybe because I refused to, but I think now that it was by choice. And I followed her lead. She seemed icy with you. I guess that was an act."

Lindsay nodded slowly.

"After you left yesterday, Stella let me have it. I don't know why she waited this long, but maybe she sensed it was time to change things. Maybe she just saw what I didn't want to see. Maybe she knew that we weren't bugged. Or that you were unhappy. It was hard for you to come around. You don't hide those things very well and ... neither do I."

"No," she murmured, and reached a hand up to run over he cheek. It was a gentle touch. Sweet. The look in her eyes was grateful. "You need to know, Danny, that no one ever intended to leave you out of the loop. Everything fell into place while Mac was working on his connections. You said it earlier. Every thing's changed now. You can't storm the crime lab to rescue me."

"I will, if I have to."

"Danny—"

"I will. If you're in danger, I won't stay away. I won't make those kind of promises. And I get it, I do," he wasn't going to waste time being angry over it, not when he'd spent the last three months being angry for all the wrong reasons. "But we work together and we work to finish this soon. But until then ... How are we going to do this?"

"Do what?"

"This ... thing between us."

"You mean, if you're my boyfriend and I'm you're girlfriend?"

He cringed at the word choice, and snarled at her, relieved that he could find something light and common wither her; glad to have it back. "Since we're _seeing _each other."

Lindsay snorted. It was so unladylike and so much his Montana.

"Well," she said slowly, "you have to pick me up from my apartment every so often, and take me to dinner, and sometimes a movie. Or I'd take a game of pool, just not bowling, or side trips to interesting places. Or—"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "I think I got that part."

"And you should bring flowers every so often. Nothing elaborate. Maybe daisies or poppies."'

"Is that so?" He enjoyed this about her. "Still not what I'm talking about."

"I'd say you should be willing to tell people we're seeing each other, but under the circumstances," she let out a sigh. "I don't know, Danny. We're just going to have to work it out."


	9. Chapter 9

_**First of all, thank you for everyone who's held on and keeps coming back to the story. I'm also usually better at reviewing, and for that I'm sorry. Just to make it up to all of you, I heard some of what you've said ... so I added a scene and a little bit of information into this chapter. Thanks for the comments! I hope to get back with everyone soon! Until then, here's the next chapter ... enjoy!**_

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><p><em><strong>Across the Line 9<strong>_

Mac drove them back to the city that evening, and dropped them off at different lines. It was New York City, and while it was almost impossible that they would be caught together, they didn't take any chances. Danny snaked his way toward his home, doubling back twice, before he stopped at a small diner no one went in unless they were a regular.

Danny knew most of the cooks, so the aged exterior and seventies interior didn't phase him. He sat alone in a booth and waited for his secure line to ring.

He smiled a little when he answered the phone. "Hey."

"I'm home," she said—he'd made her promise to call when she got there. She wasn't living alone. Mac had her living with army major he knew from combat. He promised him that her military training was based in special ops.

It was better than Lindsay living on her own, for sure. Someone had entered and bugged her apartment at some point. She'd played up to Pierson, telling him that she trusted his advice because she felt like her place was unsafe, but in the end she'd moved out without question, and let Mac handle the details. Pierson of course, had said to stay, but had promised to check in with some of his pals to see if anything had been reported in the area.

Danny had the scanner Mac had loaned him in his bag, just in case his own place was bugged. He hoped it was, and he planned to use it to his advantage.

"I guess you're going to sleep."

"No—I'm always a little wired when I get home. Besides, I slept in the car."

"You do have that way about you." He grinned a little—he liked watching her sleep. "Must be a Montana thing."

"Long roads—"

"Wheatfields."

She snorted. "You know the advantage to driving along in Montana at night, as opposed to New York is that its completely dark. You can pretend you're just about anywhere with the depth of the dark around you."

"I guess that's where you got that over active imagination."

"Who says it's over active, _Messer_?"

He laughed, thankful that the world had somehow righted itself. They talked about nothing, the bantering opening up something inside of him. Neither wanted to hang up.

He might have regretted the late night, especially when he was called out to a crime scene at three a.m., not more than thirty minutes after he'd lay down in his own bed, but he didn't. He felt lighter than he had in months.

Crime scenes had become less vocal since Pierson. Danny understood now that Stella had more or less been controlling the conversation. He'd let her, in many ways. It was a job.

But now it was more; it was a holding pattern until the truth came out. It was a way to stay below the radar, while they worked for justice.

And it was a place he could remember his time with Lindsay, doing much the same thing. In the quiet he could think of what he would say to her, and what she might say back. He could imagine her smile as he quipped about the lace bra he found underneath the body.

He couldn't help but smile a little.

He was surprised though when after nine am, as they finished processing the scene, Lindsay showed up at the door to collect the evidence boxes. She'd been in jeans and a t-shirt for the entirety of their time at the club and with Mac, so he'd nearly forgotten about the dark suit and heels.

But they'd also made an agreement. At least, he'd thought they had.

He passed by Stella and walked over to the door to accept the clipboard from Lindsay. The look in her eyes was a warning, but he ignored it. "I thought—"

"Detective Messer," Lindsay cut him off as she stepped to the side to reveal a man in a pinstripe suit, who looked a little thin. With eyes that were sunken in, receding hair line and a thinning beard, he nearly asked if he was a new mortician, taking Sid Hammerback's place.

But it seemed a little disrespectful to Sid.

"This is Orin Mason. Captain Pierson is having me bring him along to introduce him to each of the crews. He is basically to be thought of as an accountant for the crime lab."

There was more in her eyes than she let on in her voice.

"And of course you remember Adam Ross. I asked him to come along to help deal with the ... paperwork," she said the last work carefully, using her eyes to let Danny know it was her way to keep her promise.

It meant she was not alone.

Danny met Adam's eyes; in them he saw nervous energy and loyalty. Whether or not he knew what was going on, he knew something was wrong. Also, it was clear that Lindsay trusted him specifically if she asked him along.

In a gesture meant to showcase more frustration than he felt, he shoved the clipboard into Lindsay's hand and turned away, giving Orin Mason as well as Lindsay his back. He glanced at Stella, and silently asked her to step in and take care of it.

He let them talk it out, and worked the information Lindsay had given him through his mind. Orin Mason was another one of Pierson's watchdogs. That meant Pierson was getting nervous about what was happening in the field, maybe more nervous about the field than he was about the lab itself.

Which suited Danny fine.

He waited until Stella signaled that she was walking out with Mr. Mason and Detective Monroe. Adam had finished recording the information in the box, and stood to carry it out.

"Adam," Danny stopped Adam with a hand to his forearm. "Watch out for her, okay?"

Adam didn't ask. He seemed to get it. "Already am, Danny."

Danny waited for Stella to return and watched as she closed the door of the apartment and secured it with an official crime scene seal. As she turned to head out, she smirked at Danny. "About time."

"For what?"

Stella lifted those sculpted eyebrows with a knowing smile. "It's good for you, you know."

She was talking about Lindsay.

"Yeah."

As they reached the elevator, she reached out and pushed the down button. "We should celebrate... you feeling better and all. It must have been some bout with that virus."

She said nothing else, but later that day she passed him a note. It was a place called Harlem Street, at 8 pm.

Danny knew it, and had been inside before. At 8 o'clock it would be crowded and dim. It wasn't a cop joint, it was too new to be, and it wasn't any of their normal haunts.

"You might want to change clothes," Stella cautioned.

It was the last thing she said before they parted ways for the evening.

~ny~

Danny arrived at the place a little before 8. It was a little classier than he remembered, and served fancy drinks in frosted martini glasses. It was defiantly more of a Stella place than his own. And it seemed a lot of women and college age kids agreed.

He sat down at a booth and ordered a beer, and thought about that conversation of pizza and wine he'd had so long ago with Lindsay. It seemed long ago now.

He was surprised when Flack walked through the door and headed over. "This place has picked up its clientele since the last time I was here," he said as he slid into the booth.

"Up or down?" Danny wondered as he took a swig of the beer. "I was thinking this was different during the Rancini murder."

"One might say its improved," Flack grinned as the waitress came over and took his drink.

Stella came over before the waitress left, and brought Hawkes. She slid in the booth beside Danny.

"I want to know what's really going on with you and Lindsay," she said to Danny. Across from her Flack and Hawkes looked at him expectantly.

"What?"

Stella elbowed him. "It's just unfair that you had to wait until the rest of us couldn't enjoy it."

"Just tell her, Danny," Flack said. "Pierson's entrance into the picture blew the whole pool out of the water. No one thought you would take this long."

"Which means it goes to the last man standing," Hawkes mourned bitterly.

Stella reached across the table and squeezed Hawkes's hand. "Which means we all lost to Kale, and his guess was a month ago. Now spill."

Danny couldn't stop the grin, but he could control the information. "We've gotten over our ... recent differences."

"Oh, come on, Danny. That's all we get?" Stella pressed. She looked at Flack and Hawkes. "You should have felt the sparks flying when she walked in the room today."

"As long as Mason didn't feel them."

"So you've met our new accountant?" Hawkes asked. "I wouldn't worry about it, Danny. You'd have to be living to feel something, and the man's two steps passed dead already."

"Yeah, but he's there to observe and report." Danny through out. "But we were caustic and careful. As careful as we could be."

"So?" Stella prodded again.

His sigh was quick and frustrated. "We're together, that's all we know. It's enough or rahter, we're enough that this can't stretch out much longer." He'd decided for himself that he'd go, and take her with him. They could find another place … or maybe hole up in Mac's backwoods cabin.

He doubted any of that was an option in Lindsay's mind.

"Do you trust Mac, his decisions, the way he's doing things?"

"Yes," Stella said without hesitation, but slid a comforting hand through the crook of his arm as Danny sighed. "But Mac knows we have our own operation going on here. He's trusted us to move on the information he gives us in the way we choose to do so. And he trusts us to gather and gain any kind of information or ground that would put this to rest. It's time we step up the game on Pierson's men. Someone will lead us somewhere."

"But?"

"But the key," Flack motioned toward Danny with the neck of his beer, "is finding out who's at the top of this, and our closest bet to meeting that goal is via Pierson."

Hawkes nodded. "He's arrogant Danny. He's already made a mistake of believing he can control Lindsay, of believing he can control us. He's going to make another mistake soon."

Danny grimaced. "Which means Lindsay stays where she is."

"For now."

~ny~

It was dangerous to pretend, to slip off into another world without worries, so she stayed aware as she wove through the city. She stopped and changed from her suit into jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. She added a long wig of auburn hair and left the suit behind. She would have to go back and pick it up later, but it was okay. It just so happened that she wasn't the only person Pierson underestimated. There were others throughout the city that she had tracked down that had been fired or removed through Pierson's call.

It gave her hiding places and allies who flew far below Pierson's radar.

But still, as she stopped and exchanged the wig for a ponytail, baseball hat and glasses, and overlaid the t-shirt with a Giant's jersey, she stayed focus. The funny thing was that she looked and felt more like Lindsay Monroe now than she did when she was in the lab.

She still had a mission to complete for Mac. He'd given her a zipdrive with a computer key that she had to slip into Pierson's computer. It would give Mac and the FBI open access to the files on his server. It was nearly impossible to do with the glass walls.

But she was waiting for a chance.

She did push that out of her mind. Tonight she was going to be Lindsay Monroe, and she was going to spend time with Danny.

An hour had passed before she walked into the sports bar Danny had recommended. It was just off Staten Island. It was a place that was owned by an old friend, a place connected more to his days in school, with baseball, than in more recent years. He got back for special occasions, the door always open.

But it wasn't a place he'd frequented in a long time. In fact, he was more likely to hang out with his old crowd on the holidays on Staten Island than at the bar itself.

Danny was at the bar when she walked in. She spotted him through the noisy crowd. He pushed up off the stool and walked over.

"So this must be Montana," the bartender quipped over the noise as Danny slid his arms around her.

"Cute," he said, but Lindsay wasn't sure if it was for the bartender or her outfit. With the way he was looking at her …

"Does the job," she told him as the crowd around them pushed them even closer together.

It felt good to simply be held, to be drawn close to him and to know it was where she wanted to be. It had been nearly a week. They'd talked on their secure line, probably more than Mac would ever believe possible, and they'd made plans twice only to cancel.

"Come on," he led her over to a table in the corner in the shadows, but in view of the television that took up most of the wall. The tables had speakers in them, so they could hear the game.

But on top lay a bouquet of daisies wrapped in green floral paper.

The laugh escaped her as she looked up at him. "You brought me flowers."  
>He shrugged, and pulled her with him into the booth, even as she reached for the flowers. "Seemed apt, since I was going for a date and it was in your date <em>rules<em>." He nodded as the bartender came over himself and sat two mugs of beer down for them.

Danny slid his arm along the back of the booth and nodded toward the bartender as he walked away. "And I told Mike, since your rules state that we should tell people. But don't worry. He only knows you as my friend _Montana_."

"ha ha," she said as she elbowed him. "And I got the feeling he'd heard about _Montana_ before."

Danny shrugged. "I don't know. Flack's been known to come here." He moved the flowers off the table. "Speaking of … you're lucky you got flowers. Flack said it would count here if we tried Mike's pizza and removed every other slice. Pizza's decent. But it seemed somehow wrong on a first date."

"This doesn't bother you," she noted. "The dating thing and … us?"

"This?" he shook his head. "No. The way we're having to do it? Sure. But I like to date, I like you … and its more than that, so I'm going to stop now."

"Afraid of saying something that might embarrass your friends, _Messer_."

"No, but I'm not sure how deep we should take this until we can take it deeper." He picked up his beer. "Now enjoy, Monroe. Mike makes decent pizza, but he makes his own brew and its amazing. Keeps this place alive and allowed the theater set up in this place."

And so she did. She leaned back, and for a moment set the battle with Pierson aside, enjoyed the comfort of Danny's presence, and watched the game.

Well … watched and participated in the cooperate atmosphere of it all.

~ny~

Dale Pierson was gone for the evening. Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief when that news was passed to her. She'd been sure she'd he was working against her. Not that Dale Pierson ever really stayed late. He didn't keep the same death-defying hours that Mac had—not that everyone would. Still, she'd hit a run of luck that caused the delay. Now that things with Danny had changed, now that she had some sort of hope, she just feared that it would all slow down.

Of course, it wasn't just that she was waiting for Pierson to leave. She also had to wait for an importune moment where a crime scene took essentials out, for a moment when Pierson's second hands were also occupied.

At night the crime lab was lit with minimal lighting. Lab techs worked around the clock processing data, but it was a smaller staff. There was less talking, especially since they had received a memo stating that the laughter that had been heard in the trace lab was unprofessional.

Lindsay was sure Mac thought the same thing, but he didn't punish them for the occasional release.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully went over the details of the plan in her head as she gathered her props. It was a dangerous thing to work in an office with all glass walls—if one wanted to sneak around.

And Lindsay had learned to do just that.

Thankfully, her job under Pierson allowed her some access to his office. It was one of the early contentions between her and Danny. She knew what it made her look like, one of the sniveling weasels from one of the mobster movies she'd seen. Knowing what she'd become, even in pretense, made her sick.

He didn't have to hate her when at times, she hated herself.

One thing wearing her hair up did was keep her periphery vision completely open. Taking a deep breath, she left the office she shared with other lab techs and carried the file of daily paperwork to Pierson's office.

~ny~

Another week had passed, and still his single evening with Lindsay remained his only evening. Danny itched, held on the edge of his life, keeping his ears open. When he wasn't working a crime scene he navigated the city with Flack and Hawkes, Scanetti, and a handful of other cops who were loyal to Mac and Stella. Nearly two weeks had passed since learning the truth.

And he was ready for it to be over.

They met again, just the four of them. A small club, another place on some corner of New York. Somewhere during the evening, a knot formed in Danny's stomach. He listened as Stella laid out a number of plans, and orchestrated their responsibilities. There was little they could do about their schedules. They pretty much remained on call with their resources spread out all over the city.

As they left the club, Flack walked Danny home, having took the subway system instead of his official ride to offer more security for their venture.

"So you all right?"

It had become clear over the last two weeks that Flack and Hawkes had been working with Stella for awhile now. Did it bother him?

"Yeah," he admitted. "Until Lindsay walked into the apartment this morning with that creep Mason on her tail again and I realized how ..."

"Obvious you are?" Flack filled in and laughed when Danny grimaced. "Come on Danno. Those sparks between you and Monroe have been flying she you met at the zoo. It's not a surprise that you've finally staked a claim, it was more of a surprise when—"

"I cut her out of my life?"

"Yeah, but I was going to say 'when it took you so long.'"

"She's ... different," Danny surmised, thankful when Flack's cell went off.

"For you she is, in a dozen different ways," he glanced down at his phone. "I got to go. I've got a potential homicide..." he showed the message to Danny. "Looks like its near your place."

"I'll go with you," Danny told him, "for old time sake."

~ny~

Walk straight ahead, she told herself. Look mentally busy. Distracted. It was her chance. She knew who was out of the building, and who was in trace and in ballistics. There was some event that night, but Stella was on that. She'd passed on the information with the hope that it would take them to the top person.

Still, she had a job to do here, and with the lab mostly empty it was her chance. She opened the folder and glanced through it as she walked. It was an art she had perfected since coming to New York.

As Lindsay opened the door to Pierson's office, she was fully aware. She heard the hum of the air conditioning. It was dim in his office, which illuminated the lights of the city through all the glass. She aware that people could see her in nearly every direction.

She knew precisely where the snag was in the carpet and made sure her heal hit in just the right spot.

As she threw herself forward, she tossed her folder just enough so that it went sprawling over the other side with the waterfall of papers she managed to push off. She pushed up, panicked and hurried around the desk.

The thumb drive was out before she knelt down. It held a government program that would circumvent Pierson's security and download specific data that would allow them to access his encrypted files on the server. She stuck it in the computer and then focused on the papers.

She scanned the paperwork, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The chances that he would leave anything incriminating on his desk was doubtful, but she believed in chances.

She missed the opening back door. Missed the warning.

"Can I offer you some assistance, Detective Monroe?"

~ny~

The officer who had secured the scene waited just outside the alley. Flack stopped briefly to speak to him, but Danny headed on back. The light was dim and the man was badly beaten, but his identity was clear.

He cursed under his breath just as Flack joined him.

"You know him?" Flack asked.

"Yeah—by picture. This is the guy who attacked Lindsay," Danny looked at Flack. They had lost their lead to Pierson. They were back to square one.

"His name's Max Holder."


	10. Chapter 10

**Going back to work next week and I'm having a hard time focusing. Thanks so much for the reviews. I hope to get several chapters up this week, because you know ... :p**

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><p>Across the line 10<p>

"Okay spill, Messer," Flack said as he stepped across the hall from the crime scene with Danny. "What are you not saying?"

Danny glanced through the open door and into the apartment where Sheldon's team was already working the scene. "He wasn't killed here and he wasn't killed today. Doc suspects he's been under refrigeration for a few days."

"Explains why he went under our radar." Flack frowned. "But it's not what's bothering you."

Danny hesitated, and for a moment Flack was sure he wasn't going to spill. "That apartment was my first apartment when I moved out of my parents. Back then, my uncle Sal owned both buildings," he took a step, suddenly on edge. "There was a receipt in Holder's pocket, Flack. For Mike's place. The receipts from a week ago."

"When you met with Lindsay."

Danny spun, the movement fast, reticent of his years on the baseball field. His fist slammed into the aged sheet rock.

"Hey," Flack moved to step between him and the wall. "You didn't know."

"We were careful. I pushed her to do it. I convinced her. I thought we were being so _careful_."

Flack sighed. "So if this was a message, what exactly was he trying to say?"

"To Max Holder it was that he screwed up …"

At the look in Danny's eyes, Flack raised his brows. "Just keep in mind, you go through me to hit that wall, and I hit back."

"Funny," Danny turned, hands on his hips as he struggled over the walls that seemed to be closing in on him. "Pierson wants us to know that we can't escape. He can't take us down and kill us, not after Sinclair and not with Mac removed so suddenly. He has to keep his nose above water, but he wants us to know he knows."

Flack's jaw was tight as he looked across the hall, and thought about the building. "Sinclair's place was researched, and chosen. You said it was almost sterile. Peirson didn't choose this place because of its sterile condition, or lack of hidden cameras and security feed, and he didn't wait year after year for the perfect planned opportunity. He took a chance to leave a message, which takes it directly back to him. He made a mistake, Danny. He showed his hand. He hadn't done that before, not to us."

"But how long, Flack? How long do we have to live like this?"

~ny~

It took everything in her not to look back at the flash drive as she gathered up the papers quickly, making sure instead to sort hers and Pierson's automatically without any hesitation or preference. As she finished, she stood and smiled at Detective Jason Finch.

"Thanks—I get so clumsy when I come in here," the breathlessness of her voice wasn't completely an act. "Pierson's so intimidating."

Finch nodded, his eyes unreadable, "He can be. Just be careful."

Lindsay nodded and left Mac's old office without a second glance back. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The flash drive was in the computer, and would deposit the key into its system on its own. Still, she would have to go back and get it. Her finger prints were all over it.

It had taken a scene to get behind his desk—she didn't have another reason.

She had a chance for one final move. Her last move on her way out of the lab.

~ny~

Flack kept an eye on Danny, who remained at the crime scene, but stayed out of the way. He wasn't going to do anything to compromise the evidence.

When Hawkes's cell phone went off, Flack glanced over-but wasn't concerned until the former ME made his way over to him. Wordlessly, he handed him the phone. Flack glanced down at the text, his frown deepening when he saw '_out for coffee_," Lindsay's code for something going wrong a the lab. It meant she was out, that she was safe and waiting at the favorite coffee shop near the lab, but that something had gone completely wrong.

"I can't leave the crime scene-especially not this one."

Flack nodded as he took it in. In the three months since they'd never moved on a danger code. "I'll go-head over and pick her up."

"What about Danny?"

Flack looked over at him. He leaned against the wall, his mind obviously circling through thoughts and blame.

"Not yet."

"You think that's fair?"

Flack shrugged it off. "None of this is fair. I'll call you when I know something."

~ny~

Lindsay was obviously watching for him. She was out of the coffee shop and sliding into his sedan within moments after he pulled to the curb. Her face was set-so you wouldn't have noticed her true feelings unless you paid attention to her hands.

He reached across and took one of them in his own even as he pulled back into traffic. He looked checked his rear view mirror, out knowing he could be followed, and wanting to be ready for anything.

"Monroe?"

She let out a breath. "Mac had be go into Pierson's office to load a key-a program onto Pierson's computer that would override the security and allow remote access."

"Wait-is he crazy?"

"No-no, he told me to wait and to be sure. i thought ..."

"His walls are glass."

"I _know_ that, Flack," Lindsay said through clenched teeth. "Don't you think I know? But I wasn't thinking about the glass behind me. There was nothing I could do about it And someone came in. Then I went back and the flash drive was gone. It was gone …"

Her hands were like ice, but her voice was more flabbergasted than afraid.

"You did your job, Lindsay. More than anyone asked you to do."

"Yeah, but I can't go back."

Flack thought of Danny, then of the woman next to him. He'd been afraid for her himself. "No-no you can't."

~ny~

They were able to work out a meeting place the next morning, but Danny didn't like it. They should have gotten her out of New York immediately. After processing Max Holder's brutal murder, he could only imagine what kind of danger she was in.

He arrived at the Brooklyn Botanical gardens early and wondered the paths, counting down the seconds until he was supposed to meet up with her. He knew she would be early. It was in her nature.

He found her pacing in the flora section, but she seemed almost calm. He'd expected her to look nervous, but maybe that had been a reflection of his own nerves.

"Well," he said as he walked up to her, "if it isn't Lindsay Monroe."

She turned then and he saw the nerves in her eyes. "Danny."

She moved in and wrapped her arms around him, and he simply held her close, relieved. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You all right?"

"Fine," she let out a breath and stepped back. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"You aren't the only one."

But he was comforted that Lindsay hadn't make the treck to the gardens alone. The major Mac had worked out for Lindsay to room with had accompanied her on the twisted route she would have taken to reach the gardens.

"You want to talk about it?"

"I suppose we should wait for Mac," she pulled the thumb drive out of her pocket and pressed it into his hand. "But you can hold onto this."

"Wait," he stared at the thumb drive in his hand, "Flack said it was missing-"

"Yeah." She let out a breath and looked around at the landscape that surrounded them. "This is, ah ... nice. This is the native plant area. All of these represent plants that can be found in New York—"

"Lindsay," he took her hands in his and gave them a squeeze. "I know what native means."

"Have you been here before? To the gardens?" When he only lifted his brows, she laughed—and he heard the nerves. "Of course not. I came up here to take classes. They offer workshops in urban gardening—but you don't care about that."

"I do. You're cute when you start spouting facts."

She did it all the time, and only more so when she was nervous, but he liked that about her. He liked that she was interested in urban gardening and less touristy places.

She frowned at him.

"In case you're wondering," he kept things light as he ran a comforting hand through her hair, "just because I didn't pick you up from your apartment, I'm still considering this a date. I say this counts as bringing you flowers."

She tilted her head as she smiled up at him knowingly. "Being in a flower garden does not count as bringing me flowers."

"I disagree, because there are flowers and there is the girl," he told her, "girl plus flowers equals correctly executed date."

"I don't think so." Lindsay argued. "Because the purpose of flowers is to be able to enjoy them after the date. You put them in a vase and set them where you can see them and remember how thoughtful the guy was."

"And then they die," he pointed out and laughed. "Just saying. But ... I did figure that bringing flowers to a girl in a flower garden wouldn't be the same, so I got you something else ... flowery. Actually, I had it before this morning, so it really has nothing to do with the garden. I figured it would come in handy at some point."

"What?"

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a silver chain. It was crafted in a way to shape tiny flowers within the chain work, and held a simple silver daisy pendant.

"Danny," she stared at it, surprised at how smooth and fluid the silver looked. "It's gorgeous."

"I know someone who knows someone."

He helped her put it on, then took her hand to walk with her among the flowers. She felt the warmth of the necklace against her skin, the strength of his hand in hers, and she couldn't help the smile that crept over her face.

"So," she asked, "do I also need to thank Stella?"

"Does that look like something I could pick out on my own?"

He allowed her the walk in the quiet of the gardens while they waited on Mac.

~ny~

It was surreal, Lindsay realized, as she finally saw Mac walk toward them. She was used to seeing him dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, but not like this—out in the sunlight. She was used to that Mac, with this determined expression, to be dressed in a suit.

"Tell me what you got," he said, as they had limited the conversation on the cell.

Lindsay looked to Danny. She knew he had something as well.

"Flack was called out to a homicide last night. Max Holder's dead," Danny's hand tightened around hers. "He was beaten badly, Mac. I ran across the street and bought a camera to photograph the scene before Pierson's team got there, and I pulled some trace off the body. We found him in my old apartment, where I lived when I first joined the force."

"it's near your new one, isn't it."

"Almost across the street. It doesn't have the security feed my new one does, but most of the buildings around it do."

Danny passed Mac the messenger bag he'd brought with him. "Adam Ross pulled his financials. His account had already been wiped clean, at least his primary. Ross was able to find another account, one Pierson probably didn't know about, and he passed the information on to me this morning so I slipped it in. We also alerted Sid. He's going to take this body himself and set aside any evidence that might be lost other wise."

Then it was her turn. "Since I talked with you last night, there's been a new development. Detective Finch called me and asked me to meet with him. He brought the thumb drive."

Danny handed it to Mac.

"I don't know what's on it Mac, if the run completed, or if we should trust it. I came straight here. Finch is one of Pierson's hires."

"We'll check it out when you get to the cabin." Mac promised. "Anything else?"

"When I approached Lindsay a few weeks ago at the lab, Finch did warn me to be careful about coming to the lab," Danny added. "He said it made trouble for Lindsay, but I don't know if I like it Mac."

Lindsay let out a relieved breath. "Then I'm safe. Do you think I should go back?"

"No."

"Are you kidding?"

While Danny's answer came a little more flabbergasted, both answered without hesitation.

They shared a brief glance, and Danny nodded to Mac, glad that they were on the same page. "We don't know that for sure," Mac reminded her. "Besides, the deal was you were out of there if anything went wrong, or if we got what we needed. I think we have both. You've done your job, Lindsay, more than anyone asked you to do. Did you bring your stuff?"

"It's with the major."

"Good," Mac looked between them and set a hand on Lindsay's arm. "I'll leave you two for a moment."

"I guess this is it, then," she turned to look at Danny as Mac walked on down the path. "I'd say that it seemed like only yesterday that we started this between us, but I wouldn't be far off."

"You're safe," Danny's blue eyes were dark as he ran a hand through her hair. "That's what matters."

"And you?"

"I'll be fine." He reached up and cupped her face in his hands and searched her gaze with his vivid blue eyes. "We're going to end this soon."

"It all seems like a bad film noir movie."

"If it is, we'll have to watch it," he slid his arms around her and pulled her close. "Because this is going to be better."

"You should come with us."

"And miss all the action here?"

"I'm serious Danny," she leaned back, "if I disappear, do you think Pierson's going to be less focused on you? On Stella? On anyone? This is going to be a burr in his saddle. He's going to react."

"You asked me to trust you," he slid a hand into her hair, and brought her head against his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to his heart, the strength of it, and smiled a little as he press his lips to the top of her head. "Now, trust the rest of us. Trust me."

~ny~

The day her uncle's apartment had been ransacked and Mac had been forced to flee the city, it had become clear that Lindsay would have to leave New York at some point. They'd always suspected that Pierson dealt with his adversaries not just through manipulation and control, but also via homicide. As head of the crime lab, it gave him the perfect opportunity to hide his tracks.

But now that she was out, Lindsay was unprepared for the sense of loss. While Mac drove, Lindsay fiddled with the necklace Danny had given her, and thought of him, of Stella, of everyone on the team that she was leaving behind.

"How do you do it?" Lindsay asked, as she watched the trees go by. "How do you stay out here when you know what's going on back there?"

"I haven't really stayed here," Mac admitted. "I've been called to meet with my contacts a number of times and I've visited some contacts at the FBI lab in Washington. But you knew that."

"Yeah... it's hard." There was a small smile on Mac's lips, a smirk—Lindsay realized. "But you get that. It has been hard for you to let use handle things."

Mac reached over and ruffled her hair. "I brought in the best. I trust you."

Knowing so, didn't make it any easier. When they arrived at the cabin, she carried her single bag inside and unpacked the few things that she had into small soda crates that could slide under the couch where she slept. Then she walked over to sit with Mac as he placed the flash drive into the encrypted FBI computer.

She frowned as the screen first erupted with code and running numbers, much like the old DOS system.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Mac shook his head. "I don't know. Its likely we simply loaded the key for Pierson's computer onto this computer as well."

But he picked up his phone and made a call.


	11. Chapter 11

_**I love you guys! Love that some of you trust Finch, and others of you don't. :) I'm not sure ... well, I am, but you'll just have to wait and see, or read on and see ... :)**_

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><p><em><strong>Across the Line 11<strong>_

As Mac waited for the connection to come through the processing system rebooted. He was on the phone to his contact before it was up, and then files appeared on the drive.

"I didn't capture Pierson's system information," Mac concluded, surfing through the files as he spoke to his contact. "Lindsay wasn't able to run the program. It looks like ..."

Lindsay squinted and quickly read what she could of the documents as Mac clicked through.

"Personnel files," he stopped and began to read off some of the information to his contact. He moved over to give Lindsay room to look at the screen

"Pierson hired those two," Lindsay supplied as he started to go further through the files, pages and pages of personal documents on the same, few people. "Wait—Mac, go back."

The last one had been easy. "That's Adam," she said, as he turned the page. "You hired him."

"And you trust him."

"Implicitly. Adam's my eye contact guy," she laughed. He could be silly, but he had a level of maturity that was hidden behind his bachelorhood and love for his job. "We ... process a lot together, because I can read him."

Mac shook his head, the look on his face uncertain.

"What is it?"

"I wish I could tell you, Lindsay," he closed the documents and leaned back. "I think Finch is dirty. He wanted us to trust him. He made a move to get Danny to trust him, but … he's too close to Pierson."

"So why give us the files?"

"If we had moved on these, they would have known our angle. Maybe he thought you would stick around, that it was ammunition."

"Would have known I was ... dirty. To them, at least."

He looked at her, and she saw the truth in his eyes. He'd made a choice to bring her back, but it hadn't been his only one. Whatever his thoughts, the decision had been a close one.

Making a decision, he reached down and pulled the flash drive out. He looked down at it, worried. "They're checking the drive remotely—just in case there was something else on this drive that was passed over. The good news is, we might have lost Holder, but we know where Finch stands." He pushed up. "We'll get Flack and Danny on him. He hasn't hidden himself from Pierson. And he's made a clear move of attack toward you. Hopefully, he'll take us where we need to go."

He stood, the look on his face resolute. "I think I'll go in, do some monitoring of my own."

Lindsay grinned at him. "You never stayed away, did you?"

As he walked past, he patted her shoulder, but said nothing.

"You'll be okay on your own?"

Lindsay looked around the cabin, the stark interior and cluttered equiptment. She smiled when she spotted the fly fishing rods leaning against the wall in the kitchen.

"I think I'll be fine."

~ny~

Flack moved fast, and the connections he'd cultivated over a lifetime within the NYPD, led him right to Finch. He established a tail, and was sitting outside Finch's apartment when Danny caught up with him as the day edged toward midnight.

He settled in the passenger's seat, and looked up at the apartment. "Nice place for a NYPD detective."

Flack snorted. "And that comes from you?"

"It helps to have family connections, and even so, this is above and beyond where I live."

"I'm sure connections help." Flack watched as the door to the apartment building opened, but relaxed a little when he got a clear view of the woman and baby. She was not on their list, at least.

"You talk to Lindsay?"

Beside him, Danny shook his head. "Not since she left this morning. We agreed to break contact."

"Did you both, or just _you_."

Danny shifted in his seat, restless. "We took every precaution we had to meet up for a stupid date, and look how that worked out."

"Compared to the last three months."

"She was safe the last three months."

"And yet," Flack pointed out slowly, "she still would have been asked to plant that computer program thing on Pierson's computer. She could have gone down, and disappeared and you might never have -"

The door to the apartment building opened again. Flack nodded at the figure who came out, hands tucked in his pocket. "Recognize him?"

"Yeah—I saw him at the lab a few days ago."

"He seemed familiar." He looked at the apartment, then at the man who was quickly walking in their direction on the other side of the street. "What do you say? Stay with Finch or follow our new guy?"

"I'll take the new guy. I'm better on the move."

Danny waited a moment, gave him a head start, then got out.

~ny~

It wasn't the first time she'd gone fishing, standing in knee high boots on the edge of the river. If she closed her eyes, with the slow moving sound of the river moving past, she could take herself back to Montana, back to her childhood. Her father would be down the river slightly, and the sun would be high in the bright blue sky above them. No problems, no worries. You never took those things to the river.

Even if you did take your service issue gun.

She shook the thought from her mind as she adjusted the pole in her hands and watched the river flow past through the green. It was beautiful here, but different than Montana. If she had to pick a spot to flyfish it would be back there, with her dad, but it wouldn't be to stay. New York was her home now.

Maybe, if Danny made it out to the cabin again, she could teach him to fly fish. It made her laugh a little. She couldn't imagine him standing still in the river for long, or getting him in the river at all. Maybe he would enjoy learning to fish much the same way she'd learned to play pool from Justin Hapskin in ninth grade. But instead of standing behind Danny, she'd let him wrap his arms around her, and she'd help him that way.

It made her smile, and laugh at herself as she'd already known how to play pool, even though Justin hadn't known that. Danny, however, already knew she had a good game when it came to pool. They hung out at Sullivan's enough.

Lindsay stayed at the river until the sun began to set, then headed back to the cabin to begin what she knew would have to become a routing. She took her time fixing dinner, and cleaning the kitchen. She was quick with her shower, but took her time cleaning up and doing a beauty routine.

She spent the rest of the evening surfing the net, looking for news and clues until she was too tired to stay awake. She stretched out on the long sofa, and closed her eyes as she fingered the necklace Danny had given her.

Flowers, she thought … he'd given her flowers to keep with her.

Lindsay woke when she heard the car approach. She pushed up and listened, then crept to the door.

_It wasn't Mac_, she realized. She didn't have to see the man in the car to know it wasn't Mac.

She reacted quickly, pulling on jeans and shoes, and grabbing the phone. She was out the door in seconds and headed right into the woods.

She needed a safe place. Mac needed to know.

They had been compromised.

~ny~

When he followed the guy to another apartment building, miles away, in a different sort of neighborhood. He made some calls, found that he'd returned home.

It was a dead end.

At least they had another lead.

His phone signaled a call and he pulled it out as he turned and headed for the subway. "Messer."

"Danny—it's Mac." The tone in his voice made Danny stop.

"Got a call from my buddies at the FBI. The flash drive Finch gave Lindsay had a high tech tracker on it. I'm headed back there now. You get with Flack, bring Finch in. We've got to move."

"Mac—Lindsay—"

"I don't know. She's not picking up. Get Finch in, and get him to fold. I'm going back."

"Mac—I'm not-"

But the line disconnected leaving Danny alone to vent his frustrations. He turned around, kicked a garbage can, and called Stella.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sorry for the delay. I'm trying to interweave the characters a little better-and not just stick to Mac, Danny and Lindsay. You don't see that here as much, but I added (I think) a good Stella tidbit to the next chapter. Hopefully I'll have that up soon. :)<strong>_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Across the Line 12**_

As beads of sweat formed on his brow, Flack slapped a folder on the table across from Finch. At the table, Stella sat, her hands folded in front of her. Her jaw was clenched tight, her lips pressed together in a firm red line.

She hadn't been in interview with a suspect since Pierson had rocked her team. That made her a little hard. She'd been waiting for this moment.

And with every heartbeat, they were worried. No one had heard from Lindsay

Flack slowly walked around to the edge of the table, and stared down at Finch.

He leaned back, his gaze unconcerned, but steady. "You trying to get to me detective?"

"Should I? It's amazing what you can find out about someone at three in the morning, Finch," Flack said softly. "You received 50,000 dollars into a secondary account this afternoon, only minutes after the FBI noted a tracing signal coming out of their equipment."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Who's equipment are we talking about?"

It was a precarious line to walk, as Pierson was still in charge.

"One of our detectives, one of our own, disappeared early yesterday morning," Stella said. There was no need for Finch to know, or have on record, that they'd known Lindsay's whereabouts past that point.

"Detective Monroe?" Finch shrugged. "I'm aware that she didn't come to work. Captain Pierson reported it."

"You were the last one to see Detective Monroe before she left the city."

Finch scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"See, that's just not going to work, Finch," Flack said as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. "You know these guys you work with, you have to know they can do their job and they can do it well."

Slowly, Stella open a file folder and spread out what was inside; papers, and several photographs. "Detective Monroe received a phone call from your department issued phone and six am yesterday morning. You were seen here, a block from Detective Monroe's home, forty five minutes later. You handed something to her, a flash drive, during the exchange."

"It wasn't mine. It was hers and I was returning it to her on the down low. She was in Captain Pierson's office, it looked to me like she was nosing around." Finch kept his eyes on Flack's, "Hey, I like Monroe. It was her drive in the Captain's computer. Figured returning it to her would protect her."

"But you don't seem concerned when we tell you that she disappeared. In fact," Stella's eyes were sharp, "I seem to detect a little pleasure in your eyes at that fact."

Finch looked to Stella, and when his eyes met hers they were hard. "You would be mistaken, detective."

"Really?" Stella asked. "And between finding the flash drive in Pierson's computer and yesterday morning, where were you, where did you go?"

"I was at home."

"Last night you were at home, and we have a visitor entering your place. However, the night before last? We have you leaving the crime lab at 10 pm, but you never went home. Your apartment complex has a high tech security system. All we had to do was pull the videos."

"I was with a lady friend."

"Give me a name."

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Flack slapped a hand on the table and leaned forward. "You don't have much time, Finch. It's not just the NYPD. Pierson can't protect you. Taylor has been working with the Fed's. It's their resources on you now."

Flack saw the hesitation, but the other detective only tilted his head at an angle and simply stared back.

~ny~

Lindsay knew here enemy. She'd recognized their shapes, even in the darkness. But knowing changed nothing. She was alone.

She slipped deeper into the woods. She moved quickly through the trees, her hand out to guide what the moonlight did not show.

Against a tree, she let out a breath as she flipped open her phone.

_No service_.

"You've got to be kidding me."

This wasn't Hollywood and she didn't have the resources and cinema presence of Home Alone. She couldn't guard the cabin. Their evidence was vulnerable.

And while she was comfortable in the wilderness, she didn't know the lay of the land as well as she'd should. She'd never seen anyone remotely close to the cabin, homes or residences close by. They were there, but in which direction, in the dark, she didn't know.

She could only wait it out, and hope that Mac came back soon.

And then she heard it, foot steps on brush as they closed in.

And recognize the click of a safety released.

~ny~

It took too long. Danny tracked down Stella to get directions, got back to his place for his Harley, then negotiated out of the city. He had the map in his head, as best as he was able.

His grip was tight on the handles, his eyes focused on the beam of light on the open road.

He pushed back the rush of memories, the flood of images.

Her face, her eyes, that cute little smirk.

She was okay, he told himself, even as he leaned forward and pushed his bike a little bit faster.

_Trust the rest of us. Trust me._

It was a promise he intended to keep.

~ny~

He fired. She jumped, her hand automatically lifting to her heart. The wood on the tree splintered, so close that the splinters hit her cheek.

He was close, closer than she'd thought.

She watched the beam of his flashlight trace the trees from the left, and go black as it passed the one she hid behind. She held her breath until it appeared again to her right, moving toward the other trees.

"You can't hide from me, Monroe."

Lindsay breathed in, slowly and waited for the beam to inch further away.

She measured his steps.

_Now._

She took off to her left, toward the trees he'd shown her with the beam of light.

His bright beam flicked back, and she heard the gun exploded.

It hit. The pain rocked her, even as she pushed forward and disappeared into the trees.


	13. Chapter 13

I actually got a chance to update! :p Added in a little more Stella ... and, well, you'll just have to read and see!

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Across the Line 13<strong>

Lindsay could hear them running, the sound of footsteps on the brush. She ran blindly, numb, moving on adrenaline, but acutely aware.

She'd been shot.

She stumbled, landed hard on her knee. It knocked the breath out of her.

She gasped, needing air, then she pushed up, pushed passed it and kept going. The sun was coming up.

She saw the shape and stumbled to a stop, her arm already lifting, gun in hand. She knew him, she thought, even as he raise his gun. He was one of them, an officer who had secured the scene for her a dozen times.

And yet, the intent was there.

He underestimated her.

She pulled the trigger, and stumbled back, too weak to brace the rebound.

He stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise.

She cried out as she was grabbed from behind and shoved down.

She stared up at Pierson, her vision blurred. He simply kicked her gun from her hand. Pierson was gone. She saw his eyes-the man she shot. She saw him fade out, fall over, and nearly went under herself.

Breathe she told herself. Breathe.

"You think you were going to get away from me? You think you had it in you," Pierson spat, as he yanked her arms together. The cuffs locked around her wrists with a click.

She stared up at him as his image wavered.

"It—hurts." She managed as pain shot from her shoulder. "Hurts."

"You think I care, Lindsay Monroe from Montana? You think it matters what you feel?" He stood and yanked her arm. Yanked her up.

Her knees buckled, her vision ... blurred.

"They'll find me," Lindsay told him as she fell to a knee, dizzy. She would not give in. Her brown eyes were fierce, as she locked on. "And even when they find me, its only murder on your head."

"Really? When you just killed a member of the NYPD?"

"This isn't your jurisdiction, Pierson," she struggled with her breathing. Stay conscious, she told herself. "The crime lab here won't protect you."

Mac had made sure of that.

"They won't find you," with surprising strength Pierson lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. She grunted and wondered why she just didn't slide off. "Besides. You're my little insurance piece. As long as I have you, they need me."

He didn't understand crime scenes, she thought, as he carried her through the woods. He didn't know that to the right eye, under the right questions, someone could tell a lot.

Especially when they already had an idea of the questions they needed to ask.

The blood was rushing to her head. She felt sick and had to push past the nausea, the pain, the image in her head. She saw him again, saw the man she'd shot, saw the surprise and the reality of death as he tumbled over.

Death ...

_Danny, _she thought as the necklace fell forward, hit against her chin.

_Trust the rest of us. Trust me._

~ny~

Flack left Finch in interview to stew. He hadn't lawyered up. He was sure the man thought he could stall. It gave Mac's contacts time to get to the station, to lay out their evidence, and the case they were building.

He walked into observation where Stella waited silently, her arms crossed. She turned the coffee she held in her hand around and around, using only her fingertips. She'd said little, but he saw the worry in her eyes. Mac and Danny were on the road. Lindsay was still MIA.

She'd met with Mac's contacts as well. She knew what he knew.

And neither of them knew if Finch even had what they needed.

But when they walked back in to interview, they were more prepared.

"You've been very busy, my friend," Flack said as he took the lead. This time Stella didn't sit. She took two steps over to the side, her shoulder to Finch, and waited her turn. Her eyes watched the mirror, watched Finch.

Flack set the file on the table and opened it, taking the contents out slowly and laying them out for Finch to see much as Stella had done earlier.

"People have had a line on Pierson's personnel choices for awhile, so they've been watching you. In fact, the FBI had an eye on you before you transferred into the NYPD from Jersey. You remember your friends in Jersey, Detective Finch. Not your fellow cops, because they don't really vouch for you. In fact, I had several interesting conversations with your former colleagues."

Flack set out one photograph after another until all five were laying on the table, each was a shot of Finch with people even Flack knew were mob guys. "You weren't very careful."

Finch frowned, his jaw tight. He met Flack's gaze. "I walked away from that life."

He didn't come across as believable, just as a cocky SOB.

"Then who are you if not a contact for the Vencetti family? I just need a name."

He let out a breath, sharp and surprised. "I don't have anything man."

"Sure you don't," Flack pulled out another file as he went through the next information quickly, aware of Stella's watchful gaze on the scene in the mirror. "According to the FBI, your finances only improved when you started working with the NYPD. In September 2005, you were put under Captain Pierson's watch. You've been there ever since. Seems you started collecting a healthy bonus around that time."

"I have a trust fund."

"And I have a shack on the beach in Tahiti—" Flack said lightly as he set the last report on the table. "But I'll call you on your lie first. I don't even have to run the numbers on this, or go check through whatever excuse you put in front of me, because those boys in Washington have a line on you already. They were created to take care of the mob and that's what they're doing. Plus, they've been holding out on you, Finchy boy. You haven't been very honest with yours taxes, but they waited because they wanted to see what kind of goods you could give them. It's time to return the favor."

Finch snorted. "What—you're offering some sort of a deal? You think I'm going to take it?"

"I think you should. It's not going to be on the table for long. You think Pierson's not going to cover his own back when he's brought it? Mac got some dots connected on his own ... I bet you don't know about dots. You loaded a computer program on the flash drive. Or better yet, you had someone load it. But it had a program of its own, and while it might not have locked into Pierson's computer, it did capture an image of the computer that was used." Flack felt the buzz of the phone in his pocket, and took a step toward the door. "They've already pulled up a couple of names. We'll start with them," he looked toward Stella and watched as she slowly turned toward him. "You think we really need to put a deal on the table?"

"You don't even know who you're dealing with."

"Just think about it," with nod toward the door, he stepped out with Stella close behind, and stepped into the bullpen with his phone out.

"Tell me you've got something," Mac said without preamble.

"I'm working him. I don't think he's all that loyal toward Pierson, but he's going to hold out some sort of a deal. He's a rat, like Pierson. Smarter—"

"We don't have time. Lindsay's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" His gaze flicked to Stella's. He saw the surprise. It was one thing for her not to answer the phone, it was another for her to be gone.

"I'm at the cabin. Someone was here. Looks like they went into the woods and came back out," Mac sighed. "We've got blood on the drive, and she's gone. Whatever car was here..."

When he finished with Mac, Stella was on her own phone. It was tucked between her ear and her shoulder as she leaned over a desk to write down the information. He glanced at it, noting Pierson's car and plate info. She met his gaze, motioned with her head for him to head back in without her.

Flack walked in, and leaned over the table. "You came to me, Finch. You used me, I don't like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You wanted us to trust you, so you came to me and warned me to warn Danny. You played with Monroe, a fellow officer. You wanted us to think you were on our team, but you weren't. You gave her a drive. Now she's gone."

Flack was glad to see the look of surprise in the man's eyes, a flinch of fear.

"Look, I don't know anything about that."

"Do you know what they put in that flash drive? A tracking program that took them right to Monroe. Something happens to her, any deal's off the table."

Finch paled. His gaze flicked to the door as Stella came in, then back to Flack. "I don't know where she is man. If Pierson did something-"

"So you are allied with Pierson."

"Not exactly with him. And ..." he looked away from Flack.

"Then what do you know?"

"Look, I never really could get away from Vencetti, all right? And I needed protection, just a little service, but got out of control. Pierson's stupid. He could have ..." he stopped himself, caught on that he was giving away too much. "All I wanted was to give them proof that Pierson was not up for the job. Boss trusts him, puts out lives in his hands and he's screwing around. He's going to throw the whole operation and he's going to get us killed."

"You killed, you mean," Stella said slowly. She waited until Finch looked at her. "There is no us in this room. There is no operation. You did what it took to save your face, no matter who got in the way."

"Seems to me you're right in the middle of it," Flack said.

"Look ... Monroe, she's cool, but she was stepping into something too big. I told you that."

"And you handed her the flash drive."

He stared at Flack, held off.

"We don't have time for this-" Flack pressed.

"We want the name of your boss," Stella said her dark eyes flashed. "And we want your contacts."

"I want a deal and I want a lawyer."

"ADA's outside," Flack stood up straight. "I need to know where Pierson might have taken Monroe, and I need a name."

"I don't know, man, I'm not Pierson's guy. He didn't bring me in. I was placed by ... I want that deal. I can give you a name and whatever you need that I have. But I don't know anything about Monroe."

With one final look at Finch, Flack stepped outside.

~ny~

The sun had come up, as Danny took the most direct route to the cabin. The road was empty, old and cracked. An old highway with original pavement. There was a farmer out on his tractor, a couple on bikes.

But otherwise, it was empty. It allowed him lean with the speed of his ride. He focused on the buzz of his engine and pushed out the noise in his head.

But it was there. It crept in, reminding him of what he had to lose.

Standing on the pier at Coney island. He'd bought her a hot dog and she'd turned around, looking at him, and laughed. The wind had toyed wither her hair. Her eyes danced with mischief.

The memory was like a bright and vivid photograph in his head.

He'd said something, she'd said something, and he fought the urge to kiss her. He should have kissed her then. He shouldn't have been afraid of change.

It wasn't change, he realized now-not when it was so right.

~ny~

She was moving, Lindsay thought Lying on her side, her arms still behind her back. The road was uneven, which told her they were still out on that old highway. It was empty, the reason Mac chose it. There would be no one there, no one to help.

Pierson had tossed her in the back seat of his car. She'd blanked out.

She blinked open her eyes and noted the light. It was still dim. Not much time had passed. She could see her hands, stained with her own blood. But at least she could see them. There was a reason why cops cuffed a person with their hands behind their back.

She had a chance ... just a chance. She looked at the cuffs on her wrists and slowly lifted her arms, tested the motion. Once, then again, she tried as she breathed out—and fought against the pain.

Almost there, she told herself, as the pain in her shoulder burned.

And her vision grayed.

She needed to see the road, she realized. She would have to take the chance that he wouldn't react. She slowly worked herself into a sitting position, then let her head fall back against the seat as she looked forward, met Pierson's eyes in the rear view mirror.

And then she saw it—the motorcycle rider was just a dot on the horizen, but it was a chance.

It was her chance.

One move.

She had one move.

And on a breath, she tossed her hands up, screamed out the pain.

And threw them round his neck.

The car jerked as Pierson scrambled for control.


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry for the delay. I had a bit of figuring out to do, and I'm back to work now :) ...

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><p><strong>Across the Line 14<strong>

He was moving fast, so fast that as the car jackknife up ahead he nearly panicked. _No—_he thought, as the car swerved—don't make me choose.

_Don't make me choose._

Public duty, or Lindsay ...

Empty roads.

He watched in horror as the car spun out of control, crossed the road and crashed into the trees.

He braked his Harley. He's have to stop, had to see ...

And then he saw Pierson. Danny pushed off while still in motion, and let his bike slide. As Pierson stumbled back and drew his weapon, Danny had his out.

"I'll kill you now, you sniveling—" his attention was on the car.

"You'll drop it," Danny said, his gaze fully locked, his gun firmly positioned. "Back away from the car, Pierson."

Pierson turned, but kept is gun aimed at the car. "Messer. You should have stayed out of it."

"No," the answer was simple. He wanted to look toward the car, but he couldn't—didn't take his gaze from Pierson. "Drop it. Let it go."

Slightly hysterical, Pierson shook his head. "They vouched for you, you know. People knew you, said they knew Louie Messer. Don't mess with him, they said. Don't mess with Messer. So I didn't."

"You messed with her," Danny nodded toward the car, but kept his eyes on Pierson, he hadn't seen Lindsay, but he knew—_he knew_, "you messed with me. You had Mac Taylor fired and hunted him down. You wrote Bonesarra up for petty infractions. For doing her job. And you caused the lab to lose it's effectiveness. You don't think you were messing with me? Messing with my world?"

"It's bigger than this," Pierson took his aim away from Lindsay, pointed it at himself. "Bigger than you and me. You do the job. You do the job and work for the man who's in control. He's in control and he'll be in control."

"There's always a choice," Danny said, and made one. He hadn't seen Lindsay, and that was bad. She was hurt. He knew it, knew it like he knew Pierson was dirty.

With Pierson's eyes wild, Danny fired. Close enough to be accurate, to hit the arm.

The gun fired haphazardly, tumbled away. Danny rushed forward, shoved him to the ground. Pierson cried out, hysterically.

"You shot me."

"No," Danny said, as he cuffed him and made sure to pull extra hard on the injured arm. "I saved you for feds."

And then as he pushed up, he saw her. Crumpled in the back seat. Bleeding. There was so much blood. Her eyes were closed.

"Montana."

He ripped open the back door and fell to his knees. He tossed his jacket aside, and tugged off his t-shirt. "Lindsay—"

"Danny."

He watched her eyes blink open as he drew her out, into his arms, and fumbled to find the wound, to press his crumbled t-shirt to it. "You're bleeding."

"He got me. Mostly ... mostly stopped, I think ..." she breathed, and groaned, her eyes squeeze shut, as he pressed against it. "I think ... I'm okay. I—I like this."

Danny chucked, despite himself. "What? Being rescued?"

"No," she managed a smile and reached up, tugged at the neck of his wife beater. "This ..."

He nearly laughed as he called it in, his shirt firmly pressed against her shoulder. He called first for an ambulance and waited for them to triangulate his location. And then he called Mac.

"I got her," he said as he cradled her in his lap, and took a moment to press his lips to her forehead. "I found her."

~ny~

The ADA sat across from Finch, but Flack and Stella stood. Finch stared down at the paper he'd just signed, then looked up at Flack. He would do time for concealing information, for impeding the investigation of a crime, for obstruction of justice, but it would be minimum security. The time he served would, more than likely, depend on the number of crimes they could tie him too.

Unless they pinned him on murder, he could be out in a few months.

But he would loose his badge and his position.

"His name is Elliot Davis. He works—"

"The tech guy?" the name hadn't been on any list. Elliot Davis had built an empire in technology and software. Flack glanced at the ADA, then at Stella.

"Security technology. All of the equipment that Pierson and the rest used to set up Chief Sinclair's murder, the take over at the lab, the monitoring of NYPD officers and employees? The mayor's office? It all futuristic spy stuff—because Elliot Davis is in the security tech business. He has tech guys and equipment."

Finch leaned forward, folded his hands together and carefully chose his words. "Davis worked the system. He has people everywhere. He started with the mob, years ago. He offered to help me out, help me get away from Vencetti and that world, but it was just a controlling move."

"Oh come on Finch. Don't sit there and act like you're trapped in this world," Stella seethed. "I've heard about your apartment, and you sat right here at this table and admitted to trying to get Pierson caught. That means you were trying to move up in the world."

"I ain't no saint. Who doesn't like the money? But this right here? This was always going to be the deal for me. Cops don't do well in prison, so yeah—I held off." Finch said without fervor. "But you want Davis. He's gotten power hungry, likes to clear paths in his own way. One of his biggest challenges was Mac Taylor and the New York crime lab. He could never get rid of all the evidence."

"Until Sinclair," Flack supplied.

"Yeah. He's spent his entire business career building a network to protect his back and his motives. He got into the NYPD two decades ago and has been building up to this point. He started focusing on the crime lab four years ago. Taylor got a little too close to him. He had to step back, figure out away around him."

"So he killed Sinclair."

"He arranged it. Look, he's got technology I've never seen before. You can't record around the guy. He knows. But there are guys, other guys, that will role on him. That can give you more."

"Give us the names."

Finch tapped a finger on the file that contained his deal. "I want a new deal. Some changes."

~ny~

Stella stepped out of the room as the ADA and Finch went over the final details of his deal. He'd held out, renegotiating multiple times.

Flack didn't have to like it, but he'd rather have Pierson than Finch.

Unless … he glanced out the window, into the hallway and watched Stella on her phone. He didn't like the look in her eyes.

If something happened to Monroe, he'd make sure Finch was held accountable with an accessory for murder. They didn't know much; only that she'd been shot and that a helicopter had brought her all the way back to Saint Mary's. He couldn't think of it—couldn't imagine it. She would be okay. She was a cop—and that said a lot—but she wasn't just a cop to any of them.

Danny …

Not _just _Danny. She'd put her life on the line for all of them.

In all their dealings the ADA hadn't touched that one.

And Finch hadn't asked.

Either he was too cocky and focused on the big game to remember his role in Lindsay's disappearance, or he blamed himself a little as well. Flack was pretty sure it was the former. Finch might have told the truth when he'd said he hadn't meant to hurt her, but only because he saw her as a pawn in his bigger game.

Finch handed the pen back to the ADA and pushed the notepad across the table. The ADA capped it and slowly pushed away from the table.

"I suppose you know what to do with him?"

Flack opened the door for her. "We can find something," he promised, but his eyes were on Stella. She had just ended the call.

"Monroe?" he asked as he walked over to her.

She looked up at him, "I don't know," she said quietly. "She's lost a lot of blood. Danny's there, but she's in surgery. He hasn't seen her since he arrived. He's going to need someone to be there with him."

"I'll head down. You?"

"I've got to wait here for Mac," her eyes burned bright. "He's on his way."


	15. Chapter 15

**_First of all, thanks so much for the reviews. I love how you guys get me thinking, and help me stretch the characters known and unknown. And because of that, while this should have been the second to last chapter, I now absolutely have to delve a little bit more into one of the characters so ... that added or will add a bit more. And maybe a little extra danny/lindsay awesomeness that Lilymoonlight requested. Maybe, but that will take a few chapters. _**

**_Speaking of Lilymoonlight, this chapter is dedicated to her as she asked for a Mac/Stella story. I have barely had time to write this before her deadline (XD), but she inspired the scene/scenes in this one. :)_**

**_I know I've said it, but the characters don't belong to me. _**

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><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

**Across the Line**

"Thank you," Stella told the messenger as she took the bag from him. She knew he'd ridden from Long Island, a detour from where a mayor's assistant had met him personally. She also knew the Mayor's personal assistant, a former lab tech whom the FBI had recommended to the mayor be instated in his office.

However the decisions had been made, whoever had recommended Pierson and the new Chief of Detectives, the mayor had realize the mistake almost immediately. When Mac had brought in the FBI, he'd agreed to work in subterfuge.

It would, in the end, make his bad decision hidden when the entire case broke and ended in one sweep.

And that's what it was going to take. One long sweep. Timed.

Delivered.

They had managed—she hoped—to keep Pierson's arrest under wraps. According to Finch, he had moved on Lindsay himself, likely hoping to catch both her and Mac before the boss knew what had happened. He hadn't contacted Davis. Unfortunately, he would be allowed to contact a lawyer.

When his sedation wore off.

It meant they had to move fast, before Davis got wind of things. They could only hope …

As the door to the men's restroom opened, she turned and smiled as Mac stepped out. Her he was, her very own Mac Taylor, no longer in the casual cloak of denim and cotton, but in his dark suit. The look on his face was grim, but the determined light in his eyes was her hope.

She opened the bad even as she walked over to him. Her hand closed around the metal as she pulled out his gun. She handed it to him, but held on, even as his hands closed around the other end. For a moment she let the long waves of tension pass through them. She'd missed him. It wasn't just the steadiness of his presence, and the craziness of Pierson's. He was, in so many ways, more than her friend, more than just family. His stance of justice somehow told her everything would be all right in the world, even when the past seemed so bleak. His heart …

Was complicated.

She swallowed, past the emotions, and focused on his eyes. "Glad you back," she said, with a trace hint of a smile.

As she released his weapon, his took it, slid it into his holster, and she retrieved the other item from the bag.

"I believe this is yours as well," she said and handed him his badge.

When he took it, felt the brass coolness of the badge against his skin, a trace hint of warmth slid in. She saw the smile, even in no one else would. It disappeared quickly, replaced with duty and the knowledge that it could all fall apart.

She reached up and straightened his tie, then took his lapels in her hands. "You're right where you want to be."

He looked at her, his eyes on hers, and steadied.

"Not yet," the deep timbre of his voice warned. "But I will be."

~ny~

Lindsay was in surgery and Danny sat alone in the waiting room. They didn't, wouldn't draw attention to themselves by lining the halls with police. There hadn't been an all call—not _yet—_for officers to show up and give blood.

It would happen.

He understood the need to keep things on the down low.

He rocked front to back, an almost imperceptible movement unless your eyes were on him. It was like little staccato beats, impatience, barely held into place. He prepared himself, not for the worst, not even he could take it so far. She would be asleep when he saw her.

He could handle that, he told himself. He liked watching her sleep. It was the only time he got to just watch. Any other time she was a ball of movement, hanging up the phone even as she turned in her chair. Closing a file folder even as she stood.

Not that he'd had the opportunity to see her sleep more than a handful of times. There were just moments, captured in his memory, where they'd pulled double and triple shifts, where they had been allowed to catch quick catnaps.

He remembered one early morning where she'd waited on evidence and had dozed at her desk. Her long eyelashes whispered against that pail skin, her facial muscles relaxed. He'd watched from his desk for however long that she'd slept, and fought against the overwhelming urge to walk over and push her cute button nose.

Oh, she'd hate him for it, he knew. Lindsay Monroe didn't like to be thought of as cute.

But he … loved her for it. He … _loved_ her.

The stark realization swept him with fear, wiping out the beauty of the emotion. He could lose her. He could really lose her before he had the chance to really have her.

"Danny Messer?"

He looked up as a nurse stepped into the empty waiting room. She'd obviously just stepped out of surgery, as the mask hung from her face.

He sat up, the breath knocked from him. It was too soon, he told himself. It was too soon for the surgery to be over.

"Detective Monroe came to before we took her into surgery. She was adamant that we give you this," she walked over and held out her hand to Danny.

The metal of the necklace was warm against his skin. Her blood was on it, a broze color in the simple lines and crevices of intricate woven flowers.

"I didn't have a chance to bring it to you before the surgery. I'm sorry."

He looked up at her, the hope waring with the solemnity of the words _I'm sorry_. "Is she ..."

_Okay_? Okay wasn't good enough.

"The doctor will have more for you. The surgery has gone fine so far. They're finishing up, and it gave me a chance to step away."

Danny's fingers closed around the necklace, even as his body started to rock again, the same, brief staccato beats. "Thank you."

The nurse turned, then stopped, turned back. "She's extremely fortunate. Despite the blood loss, the damage was nothing close to what we feared. The doctor feels like the bullet must have past through something," she smiled a little, "but from what I hear, your lab is more than capable of figuring that one out."

Your lab, he thought as he looked down at the necklace in his hand. It was his lab, just as much as Lindsay was his girl.

The bullet had slowed, for whatever reason. No wonder she had lasted... He close his eyes, felt the beginnings of relief.

~ny~

Warrents were in place. There was a team strategically placed in four different areas around the city. One was at Davis's home, another at a woman Finch deemed his mistress, a third was ready to move on a series of buildings that were supposedly his back offices.

But Mac waited in the center of Manhattan. The seconds paced rhythmically in his head. He didn't need a visual countdown.

He dawned a bullet proof vest and suited up, but seriously doubted Davis would fight his way out. He wouldn't put on a public show. Not here.

He glanced first at Stella and received her nod, the look in her eyes focused. He then looked at the FBI representative who'd worked side by side with him the last four months. They had built this case together.

But the partnership he trusted most was with Stella.

When he received the go ahead, he held a breath just for a moment, and waited the last mental second to tick off.

Then he stepped out of the van.

And ended it.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Across the Line 16**_

Danny had lost track of time. The seconds passed only by the steady beat of the heart monitor. Evening had come and gone. In the back of his mind he knew things had gone down outside of the hospital, but it felt like it-_he_-was in a different world. She'd come out of surgery, and had eventually been moved into a private room with a guard on the door.

He'd been on the phone with her parents, and hoped that convincing them that Lindsay was well on the way to recovery wasn't wishful thinking on his part. Or, maybe it had been the doctor's advice that had settled their minds, at least temporarily.

He was so aware of her that his body reacted the moment she shifted, coming out of sleep. He reached out, taking her hand in his, wrapping her fingers within her own. Even so, there was a moment of panic where her body tensed and jerked, a small gasp like sound expelled from her lips. The heart monitor picked up speed.

Then her fingers flexed in his, and the moment ended.

She calmed, and the steady beat of the heart monitor settled, as quickly as it had taken off. She shifted, slowly, her body taking in the bed. Then her eyes opened and she turned her head toward him.

She was drowsy, some might say a little dopey, but the love inside simply swelled. Those brown eyes had always drawn him in, even from the moment she'd turned and introduced herself at she zoo.

"Hey," he spoke quietly.

She smiled a little. "Hey," she returned, then looked around the room with her eyes. Her brows furrowed. "Is this a hospital?"

"Yeah. You're going to be okay."

She looked at him as if she didn't comprehend what he was saying. "Did I ..." her eyelids slowly slid shut, "Danny?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm so tired."

He reached out and tenderly brushed the hair away from her face. "It s'okay. Go back to sleep."

It wasn't long after, maybe just minutes, that he heard someone at the door. He turned, nodded as Flack leaned in the room, then stepped fully inside.

Danny turned back toward Lindsay.

"Hawkes said he spoke to the doctor. Everything's really positive."

"She's ..." the emotion caught up in Danny's throat, and even though relieved, the only thing he could do was shrug.

Flack placed a hand on Danny's shoulder, and gave it a supportive squeeze.

"It's over, man," Flack's words were quiet. "Mac brought in Davis. They closed down his operation. Unloaded a warehouse of electronics, apparently a lot of it is major spy equipment that allowed him to keep us all in his loop."

Danny frowned and looked up at Flack. "Davis. As in … Elliot Davis. The Electronics mogul?"

Flack chuckled. "Built up an empire of electronics to support and protect his drug empire. Or the other way around. They haven't sorted it out yet. You have been out of the loop, Danno. Of course, it only now just broke."

"As long as its over." He looked back at Lindsay and tried to take that in. There was suddenly a future wide open and bright. He wasn't used to that, or to knowing that. He'd never really been concerned about the future. "And Pierson?"

"Crying like a baby. Without his position he's not much of a bully."

Danny snorted. He wanted some time alone with the man.

"Monroe?" Flack's voice brought Danny back. He looked at Lindsay, saw that she was awake again, he eyes a little wide with panic.

"Hey," he leaned in, her hand still in his, his other brushing the hair away from her face. He made sure he was in her line of sight. "Hey. It's okay."

"No-" she shook her head. "No—I … I shot him. I shot him, Danny?"

"Pierson?" Danny questioned. "No, baby. I-"

"Not Pierson. The other one."

"There was someone else?"

"You have to ..." she looked at Flack, then down at Danny to where his hand engulfed her own. "Its too late, isn't it?"

"Don't think that, Monroe," Flack said softly, in a calming deep timbre he'd honed over years as a detective. "What can you remember?"

"I-" she shook her head. "I don't know. I was at the cabin and they came. And we were in the woods. And … I-I don't know. I don't know."

"Its okay," Danny assured her.

"You can't blame yourself, Linds," Flack took out his phone. "I'll stop, pick up her clothes in evidence and head out to the cabin with some dogs. If you were running through the woods, maybe the dogs can follow your scent."

Danny nodded. "See, babe. We'll figure it out." He looked at Flack. "Take Hawkes and Adam, maybe Kale. They'll make sure its above board. There are two crime scenes out there, at least. We'll have to document everything, log it all to figure out her actions."

Not just to assure her, if she had indeed shot and killed someone, but to protect her and her career.

"Danny..." Lindsay worried over whatever she wanted to say.

"You're okay, baby," he promised. "Don't think of what you had to do. Don't think of it. Not like that. Pierson started this war. He put countless people in this city at risk, and at danger. He and his people, they weren't just going after you. They were going after this city."

He wasn't sure it really assured her, but the medicine seemed to win over anyway. Her eyes slowly closed, and she relaxed.

He waited, waited for her to slide into the sleep. He had some phone calls to make. There were so many questions in his head, so many things Flack hadn't told him.

But he couldn't make the calls in her presence. He unwrapped her fingers and slowly stood, surprised at the ache in his body that came from staying on one place for too long.

"I feel so strange," at the sound her her voice, he looked down. Lindsay blinked up at him, those brown eyes soft with sleep. Gone was the fear and worry that had taken over her moments ago. Instead something glimmered. Something hopeful. "So … I love you. I almost forgot."

"Linds-" there was that emotion again, clogging his throat.

"I love you, Danny."

Then she fell back asleep, a smile on her lips.

And left him stunned, and a little angry—but not at her. "Goose," he muttered in a thick, rough accent, then shook his head as he let out a stunned breath. "You weren't supposed to say that first. And then to sleep. Just to go back to sleep."

Restless now, and sure she was going to sleep now that she had pulled the rug out from under him, he stepped outside to make his calls.

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><p><em><strong>I got stuck a little on the next chapter, so this took a little while to post. Still a little more to go now, but almost done! :)<strong>_


	17. Chapter 17

Across the Line

Chapter 17

Stella stepped off the elevator and onto the 34th floor and felt satisfied. She was back where she belonged, and things were slowly getting turned around. Everything looked normal. They had extra staff as well as some FBI tucked into conference rooms. People were at work analyzing evidence from new cases to old. Maybe there was a sense of urgency in the air, but you didn't see any flurry or rush. It looked like business as usual.

And business as it should have been over the last few months.

Eventually, she knew, they would start to move offices and rearrange themselves. They'd claimed spots as their territory instead of trying to work in actual offices they claimed as their own. Putting the physical office space back in order fell far down the chain of importance from putting the reputation back at the top.

With a smile on her face, she walked through the lab until she spoted Mac working side by side a pair of lab techs in trace. She pulled out a stool and sat down across from him, watching his competent fingers hands make notations in a file. She glanced at a small plastic evidence bag on the table and recognize the evidence she'd not only taken from a scene, but had already checked a few days prior personally. He was doing what they were all doing, going over evidence and checking for anomalies.

But she also knew Mac was checking his staff. He would need to know who had compromised evidence personally.

He didn't even glance up. "You're not on for another two hours."

"I went by to see Lindsay on my way in, but she had plenty of company so I figured I'd head on in anyway."

Mac glanced up, smiled a little. "She looks good, doesn't she?"

"I think so. I only glanced inside the room. I still can't believe she was saved by a cocoon."

"Partly," Mac said. They had accompanied the FBI out to the cabin to collect evidence, and to make sure every detail of Lindsay's ordeal was captured. She'd shot a man in defense. She'd been shot.

But it hadn't been her wound that had directly killed her attacker. Her shot wounded, but it wasn't fatal. The man had made it back to the cabin, but he'd been left behind by Pierson to bleed out alone on the front porch. They found him-his carcass half devoured by the nature that surrounded him.

The scene in the woods had been far more unachievable. They'd used the dogs to trace her run through the woods. They'd collected blood spatter from the tree, and had photographed the scene. Pierson's bullet had gone through tightly woven cocoon, which had slowed the bullet. She'd lost a lot of blood, but the cocoon had probably saved her life.

Stella bit her lip, watching the expression on his face. "You want to know who I saw with Lindsay and why I didn't stop to speak?"

"I take it that there was someone besides Danny?" Mac set down the folder and considered her for a moment, amused. "This sashaying towards the topic is more Lindsay's style, Stella."

She laughed. She'd missed the dry, overly patient sound of Mac's voice. He was a man of action, as direct as they came. She simply shrugged. "Oh, come on Mac. I get that sometimes things need a little buildup. This certainly deserved it. Danny wasn't the only one in Lindsay's room. If those pictures flashing across Lindsay's screensaver of home and Montana are any indication, then our Danny is spending time with Lindsay's father."

Something flashed in Mac's eyes as he considered it. "You don't think we're going to need to bail Danny out of this later, do you?"

"No," Stella didn't hide the trace about of surprise that had settled in with the contentment. "Maybe it was a truce, but things seemed … fine."

~ny~

"You sure about this?" Danny asked as he set the gearshift into park, then sat still and stared ahead at the cabin. It looked different, out here in the sunlight with the problems in New York behind them, as well as all of the craziness of the past few months.

It was good to be centralized back in the lab, with Mac temporarily installed as head of the crime lab. Stella believed the temporary would soon be permanent. It would take awhile for things to be back to the odd sense of normal, though. Whatever cases the crime lab had been dealt were being called into question. Many were likely to be thrown out. The employees themselves were being reviewed. Who had been with Pierson? Who had worked to undermine him in silent rebellion, been fired or transferred out? Who had just feared for, and needed, their job?

Danny found that he didn't mind the scramble. The past few days had been an enlightenment for him. He'd spent his time on at the lab, working feverishly, and most of his time off with Lindsay.

Well, Lindsay and her father.

It hadn't surprised him when it had been Lindsay's father that drove the cross country trip to check on his daughter. Danny had arrived at the hospital, just after his shift. He'd been at the end of the hall when the older Monroe had stepped to the door. He'd known, immediately. Lindsay kept a photo of her parents on her desk, and a plethora of photos on her screen saver.

If Lindsay hadn't been expecting him—and if it hadn't been his first day back at work and away from her for more than sleeping hours, he might have given them some time alone.

And himself a free pass from dealing with family.

But it had been more than that. Maybe it had been the old arrogance showing itself off, as Stella teased, but there had been a moment where the thought had passed through, that if he wanted Lindsay the way he did, than he needed to step up. Her family was important to her, and she was important to them. He needed to become part of that.

He couldn't help the fear that had slithered slowly down his spine as he made the walk down the hospital corridor to face the music, and his future. Her father may have left the day before, satisfied that his little girl was going to make it, and ready to get back to his animals, but he had left a big sense of himself behind.

"Danny?"

Lindsay had a gentle hand on his arm, her brown eyes wide with concern. "I'm fine. I just … need to get it in my head."

"I know," he agreed roughly. "I'm still just trying to ..."

"Deal with my father showing up unannounced?"

"Something like that," his voice came out gruff, but he smiled. It didn't surprise him that she could read him so well. They had been reading each other at crime scenes for months now.

He picked up a packet of crime photos he'd left between the seats and climbed out of the Avalanche. Her progress was a bit slower. He made it around the front and shut the door for her. For a moment he simply stopped, gave her time to take it in.

~ny~

She'd seen the photographs. She'd gone over them a dozen times. She'd known what to expect.

But knowing didn't stop the sickness from building up inside as she stared at the dark stain on the steps of the cabin where the man she'd shot had bled out. It didn't matter that he could have survived with medical attention. Pierson had been the one to leave him behind.

Danny's hand engulfed hers. She leaned into him, knowing him, and knowing that he was doing his own blame game.

"I'm fine," she murmured and turned to look at him. "You saved me."

Danny grinned a little, and tucked the photo packet under and arm before he gently cupped her cheek. "You did a fine job of that on your own."

"Or maybe we just make a good team," she murmured, and pushed up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

The simple peck turned into something more, though it was still slow and gentle, a moment where they melted into each other. The warmth she felt from him was better than any medication. The gentle draw, something like a magnet.

Lindsay sighed as he broke the kiss.

"Let's get this over with."

He smiled, and turned to lead the way, her hand still in his.

They followed the crime scene report, looked over the photographs. They reached the bank of trees where she'd fired, then where she'd been fired upon. At each placed she took out the photos, looked at them, and the trees. They said very little.

The cocoon Kale had found explained a lot. They'd taken it down from the tree, keeping it as evidence, but it had slowed the bullet down enough that it had lessened its impact on Lindsay. It had probably saved her life. She looked at the tree, where it had once been—positioned between her and Pierson, then back at the photograph.

After awhile, she looked back at Danny. "Lets get this evidence to the FBI," she said—referring to the fact that Mac had allowed them to transfer one final box—giving them time to deal with the evidence and nightmare for themselves. "Then you can take me home."

~ny~

Danny pulled into the underground parking lot for the FBI's NY headquarters, and set the engine into park. He looked over at Lindsay. She'd dozed on and off on the way back. He didn't mind. It had given him some time to think, and a little time to plan. He wasn't sure if she was aware of it now, but she'd told him that she loved him. Her father's presence had kept his own declaration pushed back, but maybe that was for the better.

He didn't just want to tell her.

The memory flashed all over again of their day out at Coney Island. It seemed like forever ago. Maybe he'd wasted a dozen opportunities to scoop her up, but he wasn't wasting anymore time. He would, however, make up for it.

He set the ignition into park, and left the keys inside to keep the air running.

"You'll be all right out here?" he asked, just in case she was awake.

She laughed and her eyes opened. "I'll be fine. Just don't find someone to talk to and leave me hanging."

"_Here_?"

At the FBI headquarters it was more likely that he'd find someone to rile up.

"Don't worry. I'm ready for this to be over."

He got out and rounded the back of the Avalanche to retrieve the box that he'd placed in the back earlier. He put the photos inside, a fresh seal and documentation of their use fastened to the outside.

The box was packed with paperwork they'd generated as well as two hard drives the FBI would be looking at. He shifted his thoughts, ready to put it all behind him. He had plans to make.

So he wasn't paying so much attention.

And caught off guard by the voice that stopped him.

"Took your time getting here, Messer."

Danny turned toward Finch, and the 44 caliber that he held.

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><p><em><strong>AN: I know you're probably going to tell me you want to see the scene with Danny and her father. I tried, but it was written and cut out three or four times as it never seemed to go anywhere and only delayed the story. I just couldn't cut the Mac/Stella moment out. :P So I hope it flows without it. :)**_


	18. Chapter 18

**Two chapters in three days. Can you believe it? And its not summer anymore. Not for me anyway.**

**Thanks for the reviews, for this whole project. I wish I could dedicate the last chapter to someone, but so many of you (CTI-Jenn, afrozenheart and others) had suspicions of Jason Finch, so it seemed fitting to latch onto the little clue he and Flack dropped in interview about Vincetti. It was even great that he fooled you because in the beginning I didn't know if he would be good or bad. I went back to try and find the review that had me working this particular scene up in my head and I can't do it. It was at the beginning of the summer, in any case. Maybe it was in a reply back or conversation after. **

** Anyway, its a lot of fun to write this and work off your comments. You have to know they got you an additional six chapters. :p (Which probably meant an additional four or five cliffies). Sorry for the long opening. Enjoy!**

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><p>Across the Line, 18<p>

The doctor had warned her that she would be in and out of sleep as her body naturally dealt with the blood loss and trauma. Still, she couldn't help but be irritated as she slowly blinked herself awake. She wanted this whole thing to be over, but instead she had a throbbing pain in her shoulder and she couldn't stay awake long enough to keep up the banter that she was so used to having with Danny.

The time out at the cabin had exhausted her. She'd nearly run a mile out, so that meant she and Danny had to cover that same mile to and from. She knew he had been on the verge of lifting her and carrying her, but the last thing she wanted was to be carried through those woods again. She needed to walk out on her own. It wasn't just because she needed to know she did, but she wanted to erase the nightmare of Pierson-the loss of control.

Even though she trembled still as she remembered discharging her weapon, she was able to hang that on Pierson's door. Sid had confirmed he'd died from blood loss, several hours after passing out on the porch. He could have been saved. Pierson-even in interview then-had done nothing to remember his partner.

Now she wanted to put it all behind her. She wanted to enjoy this time with Danny. Months ago, as they'd found themselves sliding past friendship and into something more, before Pierson's arrival at the lab, she'd barely let herself think of him in such a way. Now it felt like they were exactly where they needed to be, a place where they had been headed all alone.

It seemed like it had been so long since they had been free to just be themselves.

Even so, the past three months of research and investigation was messing with her head as well. Left alone in the Avalanche with only her thoughts to keep her company, she found herself caught between past and present. So much of her life had been dedicated to the case surrounding Pierson. She was seeing everything, like photographs returned to her present state. A car here, a license plate, a face there. She vaguely remembered Danny pulling into the parking garage that visitors to the FBI's NY headquarters were allowed to use. He'd told her he would be right back.

_No—_the realization hit her hard enough to take her breath away. _That_ wasn't just a memory. The car in the parking lot was there. She blinked and double checked, even as her hand trembled on on her seat belt.

_Danny._

_~ny~_

"You're crazy, Finch," Danny said, even as the facts lined up fully. "You weren't working for Davis or Pierson. You've always been Vincetti's man."

Finch shrugged, the smirk on his face only confirming Danny's hypothesis. "Just hand over the box."

"And you'll just let me walk away."

"I always liked you, Messer. You know how to get things done, and you're willing to step across the lines to do it. We're alike in that respect."

It made him sick to be pinned like that. It reminded him of something Pierson had said. He'd been saved because of his link to Louie. He wondered if whoever had said it had done so to protect him, to spite Finch, or because they truly believed Danny and Louie were the same.

His early time on the force hadn't deterred such belief. Did it matter, would it ever matter, that he tried to change? Maybe he hadn't left behind the anger, but he'd left behind the desire to be like Louie long before he signed up with the force.

And seeing Louie in the hospital, watching him slowly come back to life-even Louie was different now. They hadn't talked in months, but maybe Louie had been watching out for Danny again.

"He's _nothing_ like you."

Lindsay distracted Finch—distracted him both. Danny looked, and wished he hadn't. Standing, feet spread a part, gun held out in arms stretched, she wasn't yet steady on her feet.

"I'm glad to see you made it, Monroe. I never had a problem with you."

Distracted enough, it gave Danny the opportunity to move. The box crashed to the ground even as his gun was drawn.

"You should have," Danny said, his own gun trained on Finch. "Because she obviously stands for things you don't. It's over. You've played your last card Finch."

His gaze shot from one armed cop to the other. Finch laughed, the defeat in his eyes more like a promise. "It will never be over."

For a moment Danny saw the intention in his eyes. He was going to move to take out Lindsay—knowing Danny would stop him. Danny reacted, as Finch knew he would.

Or started to. Even as his finger tensed on the trigger an army of footsteps running their way, heavy doors openning then slamming.

Voices.

_Stop right there._

Danny was saved as the onslaught of FBI arrived. Surrounded, Finch released his weapon. Lindsay stepped over to Danny and slid her arm around him.

"I called them before I came over. It seemed a simple thing to do, really. I didn't think I'd get even this far."

He returned his gun to his holster and slid an arm around her to support her. He frowned a little as he supported her more than he been prepared. "Let's get the evidence turned over to the right people so we can get out of here."

Lindsay snorted as she watched Finch being led away, and the FBI team that remained. She took in half a dozen notebooks and communication devices. "I think its going to be a little more complicated now."

~ny~

It took him one week to carry out his plan. It was all in the details, he told himself. Even though she was off work, he wasn't. The hours were long and the time of day had to be just right.

And though he didn't mind if Lindsay was a little unsteady on her feet, he didn't want it to be because of her injuries.

The sun was shining bright as they walked through the amusements. The jingle jangle of machines, the voices of the crowds, the shouts from the ride—it was all a soundtrack to his childhood and to today. He tucked her against him as they walked, not content in just holding her hand. Even after he stopped and bought them both hotdogs, he kept her close.

They said very little. For some reason, it felt right. It was easy to laugh and talk with her, but it was also natural to be quiet. There was so much to be said in the silence he thought, and turned his head slightly to press a kiss against her hair. His lips lingered for a moment as a wave of fear than gratitude passed over him.

As he leaned back, she looked up at him, her smile tender and understanding, her eyes full of hope and promise.

They walked out to the pier and looked out over the water.

This was it, he thought as he stepped back to look at her. The sun was bright, and bathed her in its gentle warmth. The breeze lifted her hair slightly. Just like that day, that day so long ago. How might have the last few months changed?

He couldn't go back to that day, and maybe not that things were slowly getting back to normal, he could accept that he'd waited. She was his now, and she was safe. She'd forgiven him, and maybe he understood her, and her drive, in a different way.

"This is so surreal," she murmured, as she turned her eyes from the sea to look at him. "Last time we were here all of this," she waved her hands toward the amusements, "was so new and different."

He grinned at her. "You had your list of facts."

"Yeah, and you made fun of me."

He chucked and lifted a hand, unable to resist the need to brush her hair away from her cheek. "Not precisely. I appreciated you."

"Uh-huh."

Her eyes danced with mischief. If he hadn't of already been, he would have fallen in love right there at that moment.

"And I fell in love with you."

His stomach hitched on a moment of panic as the smile slowly died from her lips. Pools of tears appeared in her brown eyes.

"Hey," he cupped her face with both hands, and stepped closer. "Hey—you're not backing away from me now."

"No—I just, I didn't think you would … it seems so fast."

"Not so fast. I should have made my move on you a long time ago. I've thought about that a lot over the last few months. I wanted to go back, to come here, and grab onto you and hold on," he leaned forward and kissed her, drawing her close, and letting his arms slowly close around her. "I wanted you. I loved you. I love you_._"

She grinned up at him, her brown eyes clear now. "Danny …"

"Don't deny it, _Montana_. You love me too."

"Are you sure 'bout that?" she asked in a poorly mimicked version of his accent. But she smiled, her dimples emphasizing her smile.

"Positive," he kissed her again, then leaned back. "You said so in the hospital. Don't you remember?"

"I-" she pushed away from him, or tried to, but he held on, kept her close. "I did not!"

"You did so."

"but-"

"Yeah, there's a but. I wanted to say it first, and you busted out with it," he stepped back, holding her forearms in his hands. "_and _busted out with it then fell back asleep, so all I could do was just stand there and be mad at you for making it anti-climatic."

Lindsay laughed then—not just a chuckle, but a full on laugh. He let go of her as she leaned into it.

_The look on his _face, Lindsay thought as she laughed. It was so perfect and so Danny. Her Danny.

"Oh, this hurts," she murmured—and pushed up, blinking against the tears of mirth. It only delighted her to note that he was glaring at her, full on upset Staten Island Italian. "I guess I should say it and remember it, though."

"Once you're done laughing at me."

She stepped into him, and using her one good arm, wrapped it around him. The other she rested on his hip, tucking her fingers into the loop of his jeans. She looked up at him, into that disgruntled face, and suddenly, the mirth was gone. The love swept through her and left … so much behind.

"I love you, Danny Messer."

He smiled gently and lowered his forehead to meet hers. He didn't kiss her, not at first, but seemed to take a moment to breath it in, to … relax with it.

And then the moment passed, and she had no other thought, but his lips on hers, the warmth of his kiss.

_Danny._

It was that simple, and so much more.

And there on the pier of Coney Island, at the very edge of their world, far from the fields of Montana and away from the skyscrapers of their city, with the sounds of mirth and play dancing in the distance … they took their moment. They embraced it, and enjoyed it.

It was their next step together, across _that_ line, toward their future.

~The End~

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><p><em><strong>AN note: to LilyMoonlight (again) who wanted Lindsay to save Danny too—that was for you. Now, in return we need some more CSINY fiction you please. Cowboys? Anything? :P**_

_**The final part of this chapter has been in my head since the beginning. Its good to finally get here. Its good you don't die from fluff, or at least I didn't from this amount. :p I apologize if this brought about your own postmortem. In any case, I really hope you enjoyed :). And I know you guys like the fluff. You guys are all seriously the best. Thanks for sticking with this story and helping me through the summer hiatus. Looking forward to season 8.**_


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